


I See London; I See France

by Ewebie



Series: Guess My Race Is Run [6]
Category: Queer Eye for the Straight Guy RPF, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, do not copy to another site, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2019-11-27 06:51:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 19,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18191192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ewebie/pseuds/Ewebie
Summary: Season 4, Episode 6 - "Polishing a Silver Fox"Greg is a 49-year-old divorcee and father of one. An overworked cop, he has exhausted his physical and emotional resources looking after the other people in his life to his own detriment. He is tired, his flat is empty, his wardrobe is straight off the M&S rack, and lunch is from Pret. Tan works some classic pieces into Greg's closet as Bobby helps build him a home. Can Greg accept the helping hands and devotion of his friends and family to shake off habitual grayness and loneliness of his premature social retirement?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HollyShadow88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollyShadow88/gifts), [jamlockk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamlockk/gifts), [prettysailorsoldier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettysailorsoldier/gifts).



_“So, why did you nominate Greg?”_

_“Greg is a good mate, and he works too hard for too many people.”_

_“What do you mean too many people?”_

_“Well, you know what he does. He’s not working as hard as he is for his own health.”_

_“Does that bother you?”_

_“Sure. No. Yes. As a doctor, yeah. He works too hard and doesn’t look after himself. As a friend, he puts himself last. All the time. And yeah, that…” John shifted in the chair. “He shouldn’t.”_

_“So you think someone needs to look after him for a bit?”_

_John cleared his throat, the flicker of a smirk crossing his lips. “Yeah. Something like that.”_


	2. Chapter 2

“Please tell me we are not going far,” Bobby complained.

“I have loads of legroom,” Karamo shot back from the bucket seat of the black cab.

“At least you didn’t have to sit in the middle,” Tan huffed.

“Darling,” Jonathan grinned. “You love being in the middle.”

“Who are we working with this time?”

Antoni flicked on the tablet and started reading. “Greg Lestrade. Forty-nine years old. Five-eleven. Grew up in the East End. Works as a Detective Inspector for The New Scotland Yard.”

Bobby and Tan made whooping sounds. “A copper?”

“A bobby!” Jonathan clapped.

Bobby swatted him from across the cab.

“Greg is a divorcee, father of one. And he was nominated by,” Antoni blew out a breath. “Everyone who knows him?”

“Ooooh, project!”

“Greg has been working for The Yard for nearly twenty-five years and is currently in the Violent Crimes division. From the sounds of it, he’s a workhorse. Takes on the most difficult cases. The past few years have been tough on him. Divorce. Work suspension. Work injury.”

“Dangerous,” Karamo murmured.

“Every person in here says something about Greg taking care of them somehow.”

“A pathological carer,” Tan offered.

“Greg lives in a small flat in Lambeth, which his fifteen year-old daughter describes as an empty bachelor pad. Most people agree that he has recently lost weight and his wardrobe doesn’t fit him, and is too old for him. According to his Sergeant, he lives off of Yard coffee, Pret sandwiches, and bad takeaway. Oh boy.”

“You have your work cut out for you there!”

Karamo twisted around from the front seat again. “So we ought to get started. We’re on our way to the Curtis Green Building where Greg’s in a briefing. His colleagues know we’re coming. He doesn’t.”

“We’re here!”

They piled out onto the sidewalk.

“Are we taking this cab to his flat?” Tan asked.

“We’re going to need a bigger boat,” Bobby laughed.

Antoni settled everyone down before they crossed to the doors. “Ok, there’s restrictions on filming in the building. We have _some_ permission. But not going through security. We’ll be back in a moment!”


	3. Chapter 3

_“I hear it was your idea to nominate Greg for the show. Is that true?”_

_“Depends on who you ask. It was probably Holmes’ idea first, but I probably filed the request first.”_

_“Oh?”_

_“He’s not great with paperwork.”_

_“Greg isn’t?”_

_“Oh, no. He’s fine with paperwork. Holmes is terrible with it. Leaves it for us and for John Watson. Lestrade does his job. And that includes the paperwork.”_

_“And would you say that most of the DIs do their job the same way?”_

_“As Lestrade? No. God no. He’s diligent. And not just with the work… The job…”_

_“What do you mean by that?”_

_“He… Lestrade looks after everything and everyone. He’s a good boss. He really is. But he’s also a great friend.”_

_“You’re friends with your boss?”_

_Sally narrowed her eyes. “With Lestrade, yes. He looks after his people. Like in work and out of work.”_

_“Out of work?”_

_“He knows us. He knows when you’re struggling. He’s like… He’s the office dad. He’ll keep you working when you need to work. He sends you home when you need to go home. He just… He got me through a really rough patch a few years ago when he was just… In the shit of it.”_

_“Oh?”_

_“Look, it’s not fair. He walks around with the weight of the world and he doesn’t need to.”_

_“You call him Lestrade.”_

_“He calls me Donovan,” Sally grinned._

_“Do you ever call him Greg? Outside of work?”_

_Sally actually laughed. “No. No way. That would be too weird.”_


	4. Chapter 4

They snuck in the rear door of the conference room, sitting in the back row of chairs as a few teams filtered out.

“We’ve one more brief.”

“Bollocks, Donovan. Isn’t there enough on the table already?” Greg complained.

“I think this one is right up your street, Boss.”

He waved a hand. “Alright, alright. Get on with it.”

“Last one is a longstanding crime against humanity.” Donovan clicked the presentation forward. “And fashion.”

“Oi!” Greg started as his picture popped up on the screen.

“This dump,” Donovan pointed at the next picture of a sitting room, “Should be condemned.”

“Is that my flat?! Donovan!”

“And this old lump,” Lestrade’s badge picture flashed up on the screen. “Needs to be ferreted out and put down with prejudice.”

“Not our division!” Dimmock called.

“But it is ours!” Jonathan cried.

“What the bloody hell is going on?” Greg was on his feet when the five stood and rushed forward, a shower of confetti erupting from someone’s hands. “Who the fuck-“

“Language,” Bobby chided. “We are about to introduce you to a whole new you.”

“Donovan!?”

“Sorry, Boss. This is for your own good.”

Dimmock snickered.

“For the love of God, someone tell me what’s happening!”

“Jesus, Lestrade, don’t you watch their show?”

“What show?! What is going on?!”

“Queer Eye.”

“QI?”

“Please, Boss. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

“You have a daughter, friends, and colleagues,” Antoni started calmly. “Who all feel like you are not the best you you can be. And they want you to have some time for reflection and rejuvenation.”

“Give us a week,” Tan patted his arm.

“He is under arrest!” Jonathan produced a set of handcuffs.

Greg covered his face with both hands. “Christ.”

“You can’t just arrest him!” Tan held out a hand.

“Thank you,” Greg sighed.

“You have to read him his Miranda rights first!”

“Oh God.”

“Come along,” Jonathan linked his elbow with Greg’s. “We have SO much work to do.”

Karamo ducked his head at the group still left in the room. “I promise, we’ll give him back in a few days.”

Greg let himself be dragged away, but only once the cuffs disappeared back into Jonathan’s purse. He was hardly a willing participant, walking like a man heading for the gallows. “You know, I do have work.”

“Apparently, you had a LOT of vacation time saved up,” Tan smiled.

They turned towards the bank of elevators and Greg groaned. “Delete that, Sherlock!”

Sherlock grinned, his mobile still recording. “Fascinating what passes as entertainment these days.”

“Sherlock!”

He fake pouted and shook his head.

“I’ll trade. You falling in the duck pond for this.”

“Nope.”

“John, mate. Come on.”

John pretended not to be amused. Not well, but he at least tried. “Greg. I think there’s going to be plenty of video to go around. I wouldn’t worry about this one.”

“I swear. If My-“

“Don’t swear, Lestrade,” Sherlock cut him off swiftly. “This is primetime television.”

Greg glowered. John gave him a wink, “Just enjoy the ride, Greg.”

“This is not over,” Greg pointed a finger at Sherlock as he was herded into the open elevator. “Stay out of trouble. John, keep him out of trouble!”

The elevator pinged as the doors slid shut.


	5. Chapter 5

_“You know how the show works?”_

_“Oh. Of course. Yes. Yeah. I… I’ve seen the past three seasons.”_

_“Did you like it?”_

_“It’s lovely. I like a good cry. I mean, it’s not sad. It’s just…”_

_“Emotive?”_

_“Yeah. Maybe yeah. I like it. It’s just so happy, positive. I like positive.”_

_“How do you know Greg?”_

_“Through work. It’s not… We don’t have normal conversations. I mean, it’s not like, happy when we see each other, I don’t think.”_

_“What do you mean?”_

_“I’m a pathologist. We talk about dead people. It’s… Well, it’s not like he comes down for tea and biscuits.”_

_“So, a lot of shop talk?”_

_“He’s professional. Always. No crude joke. Lots of people think what I do is weird. But he’s nice.”_

_“Have you ever seen Greg out of work?”_

_“Oh yeah. Yes. There’s… A pub night? All the lads from the Yard go out, and I’ve joined them once or twice. Oh, and the Christmas parties.”_

_“Why do you think Greg is a good person for the show?”_

_“Well, why not?” Molly pressed her lips together for a second then smiled. “He works too hard. And after everything with the divorce and that suspension and the stabbing…”_

_“Stabbing?”_

_Molly startled. “Oh. Um. Yeah. He got stabbed. You wouldn’t know. He never takes time off work. But John told me. I probably shouldn’t have said anything. Can that… Can that be cut?”_


	6. Chapter 6

A larger, van of a taxi was waiting and Greg found himself in the middle of the row, sandwiched between two very enthusiastic men. It seemed the calmer two were opposite him, and the gentleman who, he’d been quite certain was wearing high-heeled boots, was up in the front.

“Ok, before we start filming again, let me lay out the plan for you.”

Greg furrowed his brow but waved a hand for the man to continue.

Bobby smiled. It was a sweet smile, and Greg found himself relaxing just a little. Perhaps it was being out of the Yard. Away from his work mates. But then, there were cameras that were going to start up again. “Normally this isn’t a bucket of cold water surprise. Most people know they’ve been nominated and there are conversations and contracts and blah, blah, blah. But from everyone we’ve talked to, there’s a consensus that you wouldn’t participate if given enough time to think about it.”

Greg snorted. “Probably.”

Antoni picked up the thread from Greg’s left. “There has already been a pile of paperwork, and we can go through that at your flat if you like. The filming restrictions, GDPR, something about Brexit and the Crown, Official Secrets, and oversight. That’s all done. What we need from you is just a little cooperation and an open mind.”

“I-I am open-minded.” Greg rubbed the back of his neck. “I… Look, there’s stuff from work that absolutely cannot be filmed or discussed. It’s just not on.”

“Agreed.” Karamo stretched his legs and crossed them at the ankles. “Work will be discussed only tangentially. You work for New Scotland Yard. Your division and specifics of your cases are not going to be the focus.”

“What is the focus then?”

“You,” Tan gave him a meaningful look. “In every sense of it. Your friends are worried that you’re not looking after yourself, you’ve developed bad habits. You deserve to be the best you, and we’re here to help you see that.”

Greg blew out a long breath. “Wait. Who have you been talking to? You said everyone. Please tell me Tori isn’t a part of this.”

“Who’s Tori?”

“Should we be talking to Tori?”

“No,” Greg growled. “No one talks to Tori.”

“Ooooh,” Jonathan called from the front of the cab. “There’s a story there!”

“Tori is my ex. And it’s non negotiable.”

“Ok. Alright.” Antoni agreed. “Any other deal breakers for you?”

He ran his hand backwards through his hair. “No Tori, no case talk. And you take what Sherlock Holmes says with a grain of salt.”

“I like Sherlock,” Jonathan complained. “He’s sassy.”

“He’s a drama queen,” Bobby stated. “That’s why you like him.”

“True!”

“Ok. Then what we need from you is this: be present. Listen and think about what’s said and done. It’s normal to want to resist most of this week, but it is all for your own good. Have a bit of faith in us.”

Greg gave Karamo a long, serious look. “Right. Fine. I’m in.”

“Yay!” Jonathan clapped.


	7. Chapter 7

_“How do you know Greg?”_

_“Detective Inspector Lestrade is such a nice man. He looks after my boys.”_

_“Your boys?”_

_“Sherlock and John. You know, he’s been minding Sherlock for years. I don’t know where he’d be without him. I don’t know where I’d be, honestly. They don’t talk about it, but I think the Detective Inspector sent him off to get help all those years ago. Never would have met him otherwise.”_

_“Never would have met who?”_

_“Well, Sherlock, of course.”_

_“And you’re his… Landlady?”_

_“Yes, Sherlock and John’s. Why? Who have you been talking to? I’m not their housekeeper. The way they carry on. And at my age… Would you like a cup of tea, dear?”_

_“No, thank you. So, you met Greg through Sherlock?”_

_“Yes. Very patient man. The number of times he’s had to come by because of some nonsense or another. I know he says it’s police business, but I don’t believe that for one second. He keeps them out of trouble. Official trouble at least. And makes sure they come home.”_

_“What do you think of him?”_

_“He’s very polite. Once sat with me for hours just talking about my colours. And he’s not as stupid as he pretends to be. That man has ears, and he’ll get you talking about all sorts of things. Keeps a secret too. He’s too good for that job of his. It’s aged him dreadfully. All washed out and grey. He could look quite distinguished if he tried.”_

_“Do you think he tries?”_

_“No. Don’t be silly. He doesn’t like to try. It’d attract attention. He’s quite subtle about a whole manner of things. Just don’t let it fool you. He knows more than he lets on. And he’s not as old as he lets people think.”_

_“How old is he?”_

_Martha Hudson made a tisking noise. “He’s young enough to be my son, and that’s enough out of you.”_


	8. Chapter 8

“Oh God,” Greg groaned as the taxi pulled up in front of his block of flats. “We’re actually going into my flat?”

“It’s an important look into your life,” Bobby said cheerily.

“And a look into your wardrobe,” Tan added. “Which, girl…”

Greg glanced down at what he was wearing. Slacks, shirt, jacket, coat. “What?”

“Is the lift always broken?” Antoni pointed to the Out of Order sign. Greg gave a weary nod. “At least stairs are good for fitness.”

“The camera crew may not thank you,” Karamo smiled.

“I’m never here. Just keep that in mind,” Greg grumbled.

“And we are going to talk about that,” Bobby added as they neared the landing. “I hear we have someone waiting for us up there!”

The door at the top of the stairs popped open. “Ellie?!”

“Dad!” She grabbed his hand and tugged him through the door.

He winced as they were instantly followed by cameras and the entire crew. And as quickly as they were in the door, they were off into the depths of the flat, chattering as they went. “Oh God.”

“Dad,” she grinned at him. “It’ll be fine.”

He sighed and wrapped her in a tight hug. “C’mere, Monkey.”

She giggled. “Where’s Pudding?”

“Uh…” he cleared his throat. “Not… here?”

She grinned. “Thought so. This is going to be such a good week for you.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“I’m up for the week, but I have to go.”

“Where are you going then?”

“To check on Pudding.”

“Ellie,” he complained.

“Nope, I’m off. You don’t want me hanging around for this bit. Trust me.” She guided him to the couch and deposited him in it. “Plus, I hear there’s a party at the end of the week!”

“You can’t leave me here with them.”

She stooped, pressed a quick kiss to his forehead, and patted his cheek. “I can and I will. I’ll see you soon.”

“Traitor,” he muttered.


	9. Chapter 9

_“Sally said that this was your idea.”_

_“Did she? How generous.”_

_“Is that true?”_

_“I certainly didn’t fill out the forms, if that’s what you’re asking.”_

_“Ha. So. Greg. Why does he need to be on the show?”_

_“Who?”_

_“Uh… Greg Lestrade. He’s the one we’re doing the show about.”_

_“Oh. Yes. Lestrade. Have you ever watched one of his press conferences?”_

_“No.”_

_“He makes the entirety of Scotland Yard look like a tired, dull, washed out set of geriatrics. It’s unnecessary.”_

_“Ok.”_

_“Graham has no sense of self-preservation.”_

_“I believe I’ve heard that about you.”_

_“Untrue. I will blatantly ignore the needs of everyone around me should it be in my best interest.”_

_“And he doesn’t?”_

_“No. Glen is useless when it comes to looking after himself. It’s left up to those around him to be sure he’s presentable enough for… It’s simply unfortunate that he’s the only one worth a second of my time, and yet he insists on both acting and dressing like a dowdy pensioner.”_

_“A pensioner!”_

_“He wears ill-fitted suits, never sleeps, and forgets to shave. It’s intolerable. I can’t be seen with that.”_

_“So why do you bother?”_

_“Good question.”_

_“No, really. Why?”_

_Sherlock sighed. “Gordon is not entirely an idiot.”_

_“Mrs. Hudson suggested that he looks out for you.”_

_“Bite your tongue.”_


	10. Chapter 10

Greg sat helplessly on the sofa as his flat was dissected within an inch of its life. After the first few minutes, the comments just started washing over him.

“There is literally only beer, penicillin cheese, and leftover takeaway in this fridge.”

“Oh my God, that went bad at least four days ago!”

“This smells… So… Ugh! … Jonathan, smell this!”

“Is there anything to cut with other than a paring knife?”

“I found the miscellaneous stuff drawer!”

“Do you honestly have one vintage umbrella and no raincoat? This is London!”

“Greg, darling, you have shampoo and shaving foam and hand soap. What on earth are you putting on your skin?”

“Is there a spare set of anything in this flat?”

“We would normally make you look at all the junk, but there’s just no junk!”

“Why are there only three plates?”

“Does anyone else think it smells a bit like cat?”

“These sheets… The thread count is disgustingly low.”

“Where are the rest of the pillows? Bobby, he has one pillow on this bed!”

“I’m guessing all the wall art came with the flat.”

“Karamo, hold me. There isn’t a single accessory in this wardrobe.”

“Does this count as a wardrobe? There are four shirts and two suits and socks.”

“I bet there are some lovely hardwood floors under this carpet.”

“At least this safe is drilled into the wall.”

“Did this entire room come from Ikea?”

“I found a pair of silk boxers!”

Oh God. Greg buried his face in his hands.

“This is actually a vintage leather jacket!”

“Greg?”

He mumbled into his hands.

“Come on, Greg. Talk to me here. Tell me about this flat.”

Greg looked up to find Bobby sitting on the coffee table in front of him. “The flat?”

“Yeah. Tell me about it. How long have you been here?”

He seemed so genuinely interested… “Five or six years?”

“Years?” Bobby sat forward. “How have you been here that long? This place is empty!”

“It’s… It’s not.”

“Where are you in this flat?”

Greg frowned. “What do you mean?”

“There is a single picture of you and your daughter in your bedroom. The rest is sterile. What makes this place yours?”

“I… Live here?”

Bobby sighed. “When you leave work and come here, why is this home?”

“Home?” Greg shook his head. “I just live here. It’s a place I keep my clothes and other stuff.”

“And Ellie gets the spare room?”

“Well, yeah. When she’s here. I wanted there to be space for her.”

“Has anyone else ever used that room?”

Greg furrowed his brow. “I think Donovan crashed there once, when I’d just moved in. Sherlock when he’s been… Or John after a blow up or big night out. But…”

“Greg. What does home mean to you?”

He shrugged.

“This is important. I want you to have a space that feels like it’s yours. That’s comfortable. That can be a home. But I need to know what it means for you. Tell me about your home when you were little.”

“I…” His whole face scrunched momentarily. “I didn’t… I mean, I was in the system. Fostered… So…”

“Oh.” Bobby relocated to the couch, sitting next to Greg with a concerned look on his face. “Your parents?”

“Dead. When I was little. I never knew them.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not like you can miss something you never had, right?” He forced a smile. “So I bounced around a lot.”

“What’s a lot?”

“Er… Five? Five houses I think.”

“When were you last in a home?”

“I…” He pressed his tongue against the back of his lower lip. “I left the last place when I was fifteen.”

“By choice?”

There was something in the way Bobby asked that Greg couldn’t help but answer. “No. I-Yes. I had to go. Would have been better having a steady place. But I couldn’t stay there.”

“Why?”

“Because they were a shower of bastards that thought they could beat a kid straight.” Greg let out a weak laugh. “Way better on my own than there. I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

Bobby had a misty expression on his face. “So, between three and fifteen, you were in five different homes, and you had to leave the last one for your own safety?”

Greg’s face crumbled for a split second before he seemed to shrug it off. “Sounds about right.”

“Where were you before this flat?”

“A um… We had a little house out in Islington.” His shoulders drooped, folding in, and every line seemed deeply etched across his face.

“Was that… Home?”

He rubbed his palm roughly across his mouth. “It was mine, yeah.”

“And then here?”

Greg nodded.

“Greg,” Bobby set a hand on his knee. “You can’t treat everything as transient. Trust me on this. I was kicked out of my home when I was sixteen and it took me a long time to feel comfortable anywhere. But you need to make yourself a home.”

Greg shook his head, keeping his eyes fixed on his hands.

“You deserve a home.”


	11. Chapter 11

_“You work with Greg. What do you think of him?”_

_“Ah, he’s a good guy. Fair. Willing to give a hand without trying to take over or steal the credit.”_

_“You’re a Detective Inspector as well?”_

_“Mmn. Yup. Five years now.”_

_“So you two are on the same grade at work?”_

_“Yeah. No. Not really. In title sure. But he’s got way more experience. Wouldn’t hold it over you, but he’s been around the block.”_

_“Other people have said that he’s a bit of a responsibility sponge.”_

_“Maybe for the bad stuff. He takes everything on really. Real dog’s body. Patience of a saint though. He’s the only one that can get Holmes to behave. That man…”_

_“That’s Sherlock?”_

_“Met him, have you? What an arrogant twat. But Greg just knows how to handle him. I dunno. Sherlock likes him or he wouldn’t waste the time. Put him through the ringer though.”_

_“Sherlock did?”_

_“Yeah. Life did. If anyone deserves a break, it’s Greg. He’s a good bloke.”_


	12. Chapter 12

“Greg.”

“Yeah?” He’d changed out of his work clothes into a comfortable pair of jeans and a soft, worn out tee shirt. If they were going pull him apart, no sense in letting it happen in a monkey suit. His flat was already in shambles.

“This kitchen,” Antoni gestured around the small space. “Is where you make and eat your meals?”

“Well…” Greg crossed his arms, holding his shoulders tight. “When I can.”

“And how often is that?”

Greg sighed. “Not often?”

“What do you eat?”

“Coffee.”

Antoni snorted. “Coffee is a beverage.”

“You’ve never tried Yard coffee. Sometimes, it’s strong enough you have to chew it.”

“That is horrifying!”

“You learn to love it.”

“You ever use your cafetiere here?”

“Yeah. Mostly weekends.”

“I can’t tell if this kitchen is so devoid of useful tools, because you don’t have the time to cook, or you don’t cook, because you have no tools.”

Greg shrugged. “Bit of both?”

“Give me a normal week for you.”

“I uh… I’m in work Mondays by half seven, rest of the week depends, but never later than half eight. I leave work when I’m done. I don’t think they’ve seen the back of me before six. Sometimes… I try not to sleep at my desk, but it happens every now and then.”

“On average, when are you getting back here?”

“On average?” He pressed his lips together. “Eight?”

“Weekends?”

“One a month. Mostly.”

“So, prepared dinners here in the kitchen?”

“I dunno. Maybe one a week. By the time I’m home, it’s hard to go get the material to actually make something.”

“How often is Ellie here?”

Greg let his arms drop and became artificially preoccupied with a gouge in the countertop. “First weekend of every month. And most of the summer.”

“Do you cook more when she’s here?”

“Yes. Definitely. It’s not like I don’t feed my child.”

Antoni patted his shoulder. “I wasn’t implying.” Greg grumbled something too low for the mic to pick up. “What kinds of things do you cook when she’s here?”

“Anything and everything? She’s a good kid. Eats anything. She’s probably more adventurous than I am. So new things too.”

“Do you cook together?”

Greg nodded. “Every Sunday I have her.”

“What’s special about Sunday?”

A wistful smile passed over Greg’s face. “Bacon pancakes. It’s… tradition.”

“Is she a good cook?”

His nose scrunched. “Ahhh…”

“What about you?”

“Can be.”

“Then we need to give you a reason to try. Come with me.”


	13. Chapter 13

“Greg needs a home,” Bobby said seriously. “He grew up in a system that taught him the only permanent thing is change. And that people, the people that are supposed to look out for you, are going to leave you to look out for yourself. And that’s… Hard. That’s something that leaves scars. And everything that we’ve learned about him just paints the picture of a loving, giving person who has lost track of caring for himself. And that’s not fair.”

The camera followed Bobby through the flat. “There’s just nothing here,” he complained. “He’s got like the barest of essentials here. Look,” he pulled open the hot press, which was virtually empty. “Spare sheets. Spare towels. A suitcase.” He kept walking. “This is the only box of personal effects we’ve found. And it’s a few photos,” he held up a picture of a much younger Greg in riding leathers. “Where’s this guy?” And another picture of Greg holding a two year-old Ellie. “He looks so happy. And this,” Bobby pulled out a teddy bear dressed like a cop and gave the stuffed animal a cuddle. “Aw, it’s so cute! Build-a-Bear. You think this is from Ellie? I think it is. He kept it. God, this man is killing me.”

Bobby continued to stalk through the flat. “He has like five books, three DVDs, and an iPod. Where is the soul? I found an old Clash tee shirt. Where’s that guy gone? I could take pictures of this flat and use it for showing right now and everyone would wonder if it had ever been lived in.”

He stopped in the middle of the sitting room and put his hands on his hips. “At the end of this week, Greg is hosting a house-warming for his birthday. And this place is in no state for that. Right. I’m starting here. And this is going to change. This is going to change. This isn’t a place to keep his stuff, this is going to be home.” He smiled at the camera. “It’s going to take a lot of work. A LOT.”


	14. Chapter 14

_“So you aren’t a work colleague, and you’re not family?”_

_“Ha! No. Not at all. Not even close!”_

_“Alright, this is fun. What’s your name and what do you do?”_

_“Ha! You guys are a bubble! I’m Ollie Tillman. And I work for BAM Construction.”_

_“How do you know Greg Lestrade?”_

_“Greg-o’s china from well, back when he was in Uni. Great bloke. Good mate.”_

_“So you’ve known him a long time?”_

_“Course! The trouble we used to get into!”_

_“You’ve got stories then?”_

_“More than you can count! But I can’t. I wouldn’t. He doesn’t deserve that! He’s too good for that!”_

_“Right. Can you tell us how you two met?”_

_“Ah. Well. A few of my mates started a Barney after work one day. And maybe it came to blows. And they did a duck and dive… Look, when you’re on your own, and there’s more of them than ya, they’ve really got you by the cobblers, Greg-o will have yer back.”_

_“He… Helped you out in a fight?”_

_“Well, ya. There were four of them an’ one of me. And Greg-o can throw a punch just as well as he can take one.”_

_“He didn’t think it was a fair fight?”_

_“Not that we walked off all well. He had a shiner and I broke my nose proper. But no one had ever just stuck their Gregory out for me like that. He didn’t like it when the odds weren’t fair. It just struck him as wrong.”_

_“Moral outrage.”_

_“Something like that. He doesn’t like it when you’re telling porkers and he won’t let you pick on other people. He doesn’t care if you’re ginger or skint or some toff or the Prime Minister. He’s just like that.”_

_“Do you get to see him much?”_

_“Ah, no. Not so much recently.”_

_“When’s the last time?”_

_Ollie heaved a great sigh. “Since the whole thing with the trouble and strife.”_

_“His divorce?”_

_“Greg-o was all in for the weekend footie. Always there. He used to bring his wee girl along too. Good kid, that one. Used to run circles around us lads. And we’d’ve the odd night at the pub. But then he moved and he works a lot, right. We’d love to see him back.”_

_“Do you have anything bad to say about him?”_

_“He’s a gunner. Just plain wrong.”_

_“Who’d you root for?”_

_“Hammers! S’gotta be Hammers.”_


	15. Chapter 15

“Greg Lestrade. Tell me about your style.”

Greg let out a long breath and shook his head. “What style?”

Tan made an offended noise. “Greg. Look at yourself. Really, honestly. Where do you buy your clothes?”

“M&S? Sometimes. And Whiteleys.”

Tan made an even louder sound of distress. “Gracious. At least you didn’t say Primark.”

“What’s wrong with Primark,” Greg grumbled.

Tan sighed. “Greg, you are a well-employed, adult man. You’re not shopping at Primark.”

“You sound like Myc.”

“Who?”

“Nothing.”

“Let’s talk about your wardrobe. For work, you’re in business casual. Slacks, oxford shirts, tie optional?”

“Yeah, I tend not to wear ties unless I have to do press.”

Tan raised a brow. “That’s something else we need to discuss. But let’s put a pin in that. I want to talk colors and patterns.”

Greg winced.

“No, no. Hear me out. You have, and I’m not blowing smoke, fantastic coloring.” He drew Greg over to a mirror and Greg huffed out a laugh at how short Tan actually was. “Look at this fantastic salt and pepper hair, and you’re naturally tan. Dark eyes.”

Greg felt himself start to blush.

“And you keep wearing these drab checkered shirts in grey and neutral colors that are just washing you out.”

“Maybe I’m blending in.”

“Well stop it!” Tan pulled at the shoulders of Greg’s shirt then the back. “These don’t fit you. You are about to turn fifty and you only barely look it, because you’re trying to look old. Look at what I’m wearing.” He gestured to chinos and deep navy button down. “It’s not wild or young or old. But it has color, it’s cut to flatter me. I’ve put thought into what goes into my closet and I care about how I present myself. It shows. What message do you send?”

“I’m about to walk a murder scene?”

Tan’s smile was flat. “Who ever said you can’t do that in style?”

He sucked in a breath through his teeth. “I can’t exactly do a door-to-door wearing polka dots.”

“And dressing like the grim reaper is better? I’m not going to put you in a rainbow shirt. I want you to look alive.”

“Right. Just… I can’t…” He ran a hand nervously through his hair. “I can’t really afford stuff that can’t be washed. It’s just… Sometimes things are messy.”

Tan laughed. “I saw that leather jacket of yours. You can’t tell me that’s not been through a few mud puddles and come out the other end.”

“Yeah. Ok. Yeah.”

“Are you willing to try some things on?”

“Alright. Fine. What do you want me to do?”

“Trust me.”


	16. Chapter 16

Antoni sighed and leaned back against the counter. “This kitchen…” He shook his head. “This is a cry for help. I mean, look,” he pulled the fridge door open to show how empty it is. “I’m not huge on unhealthy foods, but there’s no butter! There’s no milk for tea. I think that’s an arrestable offense here, isn’t it?”

He turned back to the camera and drummed his fingers against his lips. “So we have years of ingrained habit. Coffee, sometimes no breakfast, sometimes a scone or sausage roll or,” Antoni winced. “A donut. On the go always. Sandwiches for lunch, if lunch. Then an empty kitchen at home whenever he gets here. You can see how it happens.

“But,” he pointed. “But he does have establish traditions. And they cook together. And,” he pulled open one of the cupboards. “There’s pancake mix. This is salvageable. And I have a plan. We can work with this.”


	17. Chapter 17

_“So, you excited for your dad?”_

_“Uh, yeah! Please make him wear something that’s not grey!”_

_“You think he needs a makeover?”_

_“Please, most middle-aged men need a makeover. Dad just… It’d be nice to see him relax a little.”_

_“Tell me a bit about that?”_

_“Him relaxing? God, he’s just… I get to see him on some weekends, you know. And he’s just so tired. He works all the time. He cares so deeply about everyone and everything. You know, like. He hasn’t taken a holiday in years!”_

_“So you live with your mum?”_

_“… yeah.”_

_“Do your parents-“_

_“No. And I’m not talking about my mum.”_

_“Ok. That’s fine. Tell me about the time you spend with your dad.”_

_“I love London. I want to be here for uni. And I would totally just live with dad and-dad. I know he’d love it. I can’t wait to get out of Devon. We’re even talking about me coming out here after my GCSEs. There’s not much… Devon is boring, but it’s also not really great for me. And I think dad wants me here too. But he just… When I visit, he makes sure there’s stuff for me to do and we hang out. And if there’s shi-stuff going on in Devon, he lets me come out here.”_

_“Does that happen often?”_

_“Look, my dad drops everything for me. All the time. And it’s not like he’s not looking after me otherwise. And if I could, I’d just live with him. Because he supports me. And mum just kicked him in the teeth. And I just want him to… to… I don’t know. It’s not fair how much he looks after everyone and then just gets the short end of the stick all the time.”_

_“Most people have said that your dad works too hard. Do you think your dad is lonely?”_

_“No!”_

_“No?”_

_“I mean. Well, not really. He has… He has friends. And good work mates. He should go back to footie on the weekends. But… Did you know that my dad gives the absolute best hugs?”_


	18. Chapter 18

“Do you know why we’re here?” Antoni asked.

Greg shoved his hands into his pockets as he glanced around. “I can only hope.”

“Wait. First, what is this?” Karamo waved a hand up and down Greg’s torso.

“I was told I didn’t need to be in work clothes any more,” he offered hesitantly.

“Right but,” Karamo chuckled. “This actually works.”

Greg hid a small smile. “It’s just jeans and a tee.”

“And a cardigan? It’s simple. It looks good. I approve.”

He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. “Some of my clothes fit again. So. Ta.” His phone chimed from the depths of his jeans, and he tugged it out, glancing briefly at the screen before tucking it back away.

“No phones,” Karamo chided.

“It’s just in case, I promise.” Greg’s smile had lost some of the sharper, hesitant edge. “Work is unpredictable.”

“And you’re on holiday.”

“My fifteen year-old daughter is running around London unsupervised. I need my phone.”

“I thought Sherlock was minding her.”

Greg winced slightly. “As I said, unsupervised.”

“So, I had two ideas.” Antoni interrupted, leading them over to one of the high tables. “The next one is something for the family, but first, someone told me you enjoy a good glass of scotch.”

“Who doesn’t?” Greg wet his lips. “How did you get in here? I thought this was a private club.”

Karamo grinned. “It is.”

“We’ve arranged for a private tasting. So tell me,” Antoni gestured to the wall of whiskeys. “If you could have any scotch right now, what would it be?”

Greg hesitated. “I… Wouldn’t know where to start.”

“But you do like scotch?” Karamo checked.

“Y-Yeah. I do.” He squinted at some of the labels. “I just don’t know I could pick…”

“Ok, let’s make this easier. I think we should try a few. Let’s do a tasting.”

“I… I have been meaning to try some of the Japanese whiskeys.”

“Then we’ll start there,” Antoni headed to the bar.

“Have you ever done a tasting before?” Karamo propped his elbow on the table.

“Er… no. I’ve tasted a lot of scotch, but never done a formal tasting or anything.” He tilted his head. “I know what kinds of things I like though.”

“Ok. And what’s that?”

“I like things with… I don’t know, complex taste? Like when you can taste other things in it. Not too much peat, because then that’s all I can really smell.”

Karamo smiled. “You were a smoker.”

“Was. _Was._ ” Greg drummed his fingers on the table. “I quit.”

“How many times?”

Greg gave a lop-sided, cheeky grin. “Four now.”

“Sticking this time?”

“I went cold turkey. I did patches once, but last time, I just. It was time to stop.”

“Good.”

Antoni appeared with a barman in tow, and they delivered three flights to the table. “I found a friend!”

Karamo looked the barman up and down, “I’m sure you did.”

“This is Matthew. He’s going to tell us all about this flight.”

Greg eyed the five glasses in front of him. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

Karamo laughed. “We’re just here to experience the culture. Something a bit different than pints out with lads.”


	19. Chapter 19

“Greg is actually a great looking older man.” Tan held up a hand. “And I know what you’re going to say. But he has gorgeous hair, and he’s quite fit. And he is just so beautiful inside and out. And we’re just working on shedding this dull, dusty shell that has built up out of pure neglect. Or spite. He’s hiding.

“The clothes he’s picking, the colors, they’re just making him look old. And he’s not. That man has a wicked sense of humor. I just need to prove it. I can’t catch him making a joke on camera. I’ve heard him, mind you.” Tan’s face filled with exasperation.

“Here we go,” Tan turned to watch Greg step out of the changing room. “Yes. YAS! This is it.”

Greg shifted from foot to foot. “Are you sure?”

Tan gaped. “Am I sure? Greg, honey. Look at this.” He dragged Greg to the mirror. “First of all, the jacket. This cut is perfect for you. Look at your shoulders.” He tugged at the material. “God, I’m in love with you in this. Now, look. This is a charcoal grey. But it’s complex. It’s not slate. It has depth. If you want grey, you go with this. Ok?”

Greg flushed.

“And dark underneath, yes? Black is perfect with this jacket. Agreed? Right. And the trousers,” Tan took a step back as Greg ducked his head shyly. “They’re actually cut, not off the rack. Yes? And they’re that middle ground between your jacket and shirt. This is your home. Stay right here in your home. That may be a simple tee shirt, but a graphic tee would work just as well.”

Greg huffed out a laugh. “Like my Ramones one?”

“I’ll let you keep that.”

“Ta.”

“Ok, let’s talk colors. Because I’ll let you have some grey, but we are going to add a splash of color.”

Greg chewed on his lower lip. “I don’t…”

“You do. We’re going to keep this simple. I have two colors for you. Blue and green. That’s it.”

“Not together. ‘Blue and Green must never be seen, without another color between.’” He recited. “I… I’ve heard. That’s bad luck.”

Tan burst out laughing. “Greg Lestrade, that is the funniest thing I think I’ve heard you say. Now, I’m going to get you into some shirts with color, then we’re going to talk suits.”

“Suits?” He held out his hands. “What’s wrong with-”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” Tan crossed his arms. “This is not a suit. This is work attire.”

“Yeah, but I work-"

“On a crime scene. I know. You’ve mentioned it often enough.” Tan brought his hands together and pursed his lips. “You know who else works on a crime scene, in a suit, and knows what he’s doing?”

“Christ, no. Don’t go there.”

“Sherlock. And he only looks out of place next to you, because you don’t try. If you did, no one would bother looking at him.”

Greg flushed out to the tips of his ears.

“You are not a stupid man, stop pretending to be. You need different kinds of clothes. And suits are no different. What if you’re going to an event?”

Greg shrugged.

Tan swatted him up the back of the head. “Greg. No. This is important. I know you know the difference.”

“You know the difference between a well-dressed man on a bicycle and a poorly dressed one on a unicycle?”

Tan threw his hands up in exasperation. “What?”

“A tyre.”


	20. Chapter 20

_“You work for New Scotland Yard too?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“And what do you do there?”_

_“I work in forensics. I… Mostly lab work now. Occasional on site, crime scene work.”_

_“Interesting?”_

_“I…” He shifted. “I like what I do. It makes a difference. And that’s important.”_

_“So you’ve worked with Greg?”_

_“Yes. A lot actually. He’s one of the best.”_

_“One of?”_

_“Surely there are other DIs that can do their job efficiently and effectively. He’s good at his job. He respects the other teams. He knows he can’t do what path or forensics do, and I respect him for that.”_

_“Is he easy to work with?”_

_“Greg, yes. Absolutely. I think it’s why so many of the more… difficult people gravitate towards him. He’s patient. He’s a bit of a people reader, I think. Gets them. Knows what they need to be good at what they do.”_

_“You’re talking about Sherlock Holmes.”_

_“Amongst others. Me, for instance.”_

_“You’re difficult to work with?”_

_“I… Have been. I-There was a time I should have been fired; I wasn’t. I took some leave and almost didn’t come back, but I did. I… I made mistakes. I thought they were unforgivable. And… I’m not sure Lestrade has come across someone he couldn’t forgive.”_

_“Would you consider Greg a close friend?”_

_“I…” Anderson winced and shifted in the chair. “N-no. Not because he’s not friendly. He is. Don’t get me wrong. I just… Don’t know how he can stand to look at me.”_

_“But you said he’s forgiven you.”_

_“He has. I don’t think I’ve really forgiven myself.”_


	21. Chapter 21

“Greg works in a high stress job that actually requires some physical fitness, and it’s clear that he’s been fit and is on the road to getting fit again.” Karamo paused to think about his next sentence. “I picked this, because the weekend five-a-side matches were a fun way for him to maintain a certain level of fitness, but also a built in social time. These were mates. It was a bit of fun, a bit of running about, and a group of lads he could rely on.”

Karamo gestured to the patch of grass serving as their pitch for the day. “One of the worst things we do to ourselves when we’re hurting is isolate ourselves. And maybe it was the move making it harder, maybe it was the job getting busier, maybe he just felt like he’d been knocked down too many times. But giving this up was a mistake. And I think he needs these people back in his life; he needs this time back in his life.”

Greg exited one of the cars with Jonathan at his side, chattering excitedly and half dragging Greg towards the crowd.

“Greg, welcome to your weekend workout!”

Greg smiled shyly. “Looks familiar.”

“Does it?” Karamo asked with amusement. “Because some of the old guard are back and they practically jumped at the opportunity.”

“GREG-O!”

He had a fraction of a second warning before he was lifted clean off his feet in a bone-crushing hug. “Ollie! Jesus! Mate, put me down!” He managed to land on his feet as he was dropped, then was nearly bowled over as Ollie reached out and ruffled his hair. Greg swatted him away. “Nutter!”

“Now,” Karamo clapped a hand on his shoulder. “We couldn’t quite get everyone on such short notice, so I had to pull a few subs in.”

“Greg,” John gave a small wave. “I heard you needed an extra.”

“John, mate. Thought you liked rugby.”

John shrugged. “Any excuse, right?”

“Dad!” Ellie launched herself onto Greg’s back.

Greg burst out laughing and twisted to dump her on her feet. “God help us all if you’re in for this.”

She shoved his shoulder. “Someone has to remind you geezers what it’s like to be young.”

Karamo tossed a ball to Ellie. “Have fun!”

After a quick negotiation and carefully placed bags for goal posts, they were off. And a good, quasi-serious football match ensued. Half an hour later, Greg was sweating and breathing hard, but having a great time. He lifted the hem of his tee shirt to mop the sweat from his brow.

“Dad?”

Greg grinned as he lowered his shirt from his face. “Monkey?”

“Dad… What… What is that?”

He furrowed his brow as he followed the path of her glare. Right at his stomach. Oh shit. He belatedly clamped a palm over the freshly healed scar and dropped his shirt. “Ellie…”

“No.” She crossed her arms. It was a familiarly stubborn expression. “What. The Fuck. Is. That?!”

“I… There was an accident at work,” he said carefully.

“A-Accident?! Don’t think I don’t know what a stab wound looks like! That’s not even a stab, that’s… That’s someone trying to…” the angry color drained from her face, leaving her pale. “You didn’t tell me.”

“Ellie.”

“I can’t believe you!” She burst out, a flush of heat returning to her cheeks.

“Ellie, I’m fine. Look, I’m alright.” He held out his hands.

“Please, please tell me this isn’t something to do with Sherlock.”

“It’s not. Ellie, it was an arrest. It went a bit south. These things happen. I’m fine. I’m absolutely fine.”

She shook her head and planted her hands on her hips, turning to glare at John. “Did you know about this?”

John had the decency to look slightly guilty. “Only because I took out the stitches.”

Greg sighed and tilted his head back. It was the wrong answer; and he knew it.

“How many?”

“What?” John startled.

“You heard me,” Ellie growled. “How many stitches.”

John glanced at Greg and winced, “Ten.”

“Ten?! Ten.” She rounded back on Greg. “Dad! When did this even… Oh my God!”

“Ellie.” Greg tried to get a step closer but she stepped back.

“This is why you missed… I am so stupid. You never miss… This was the work thing that came up?! I! Oh my God… I can’t…” She blinked rapidly.

“Ellie, luv…”

“No… Not right now.” Her face fell and, for a fraction of a second, Greg was sure she was going to cry. “Sod this!” she hissed. And she turned on her heel and stomped off the pitch, shoving past the cameras and crew.

“Ellie. Ellie!” Greg started after her when John caught his arm. There was a brief, silent exchange between the two of them as John shook his head almost imperceptibly. Greg pressed his lips together as the anxiety and self-reproach warred in his expression. “Ellie, where are you going?” he called after her finally.

“To hang out with Pudding!” she shouted back. “At least that damn cat doesn’t keep secrets like the pair of you do!”

“Ellie!” he pleaded.

“Don’t pretend he doesn’t know!” she stopped short as a sleek black car pulled up to the curb in front of her. She was only startled for a moment, then she pulled the rear door open, slipped inside, and slammed it shut behind her.

Greg tracked the car as it eased into the park traffic, turning left, and disappearing around the corner. He sighed and shook his head. “Goddammit.”

John released his arm and patted his shoulder. “Greg, she is the bloody spit of you when she’s mad.”

He snorted. “That was upset. She’s like her mother when she’s mad. And trust me, you don’t want to see that.”

“Well, I’ve definitely seen that expression before. Most of the time on your face. And usually because of Sherlock.” John patted his shoulder again. “Or me.”

Karamo edged up next to the pair of them. “Greg, I am… I’m so sorry. I didn’t think…”

He shook his head. “No, no. That was my fault.” He rubbed his eyes roughly. “Christ, I should go after her.”

“We could…” Karamo gestured to the crew vans.

Greg sighed and shook his head again. “Nah. I think I know where she’s going, and,” he scooped up his bag and Ellie’s. “I… I need to walk.”

“Alright.” Karamo stood back as Greg headed off the opposite direction of the car.

Jonathan joined Karamo, watching Greg walk away. “Gosh, is he going to be ok?”

John nodded and flashed the pair a wry smile. “They’ll be fine. She’ll be ok. They just…” John weighed his words. “She didn’t take it well when he was suspended. And I don’t know that she’s ever really forgiven Sherlock for that.”

“She seemed to think you were right in there with him,” Karamo observed.

“Oh, she wasn’t talking about-I mean,” the corner of John’s mouth quirked. “I’m tentatively accepted. But only because I didn’t… I had nothing to do with…” John frowned. “It’s complicated.”

Karamo nodded. “That wasn’t how I planned this to go.”

Jonathan stroked his arm. “I know. It was fun while it lasted.”

John snorted and rubbed the back of his neck. “Are you wearing heels on a pitch?”

“And you!” Jonathan’s eyes lit up and he threw an arm around John’s shoulder. “Mr. I prefer rugby, don’t expect much from me.” He ruffled John’s hair. “We need to talk!”

John shot a glance the direction Greg’s shrinking form and shrugged. “Alright. Fine. I played some football too.”

Greg dug around in his bag until he found his mobile, then with a quick glance at the screen, he turned right and made his way to the road. It only took two minutes of waiting before the same black car pulled up to the curb and he slid into the back seat.

“You fucking traitor,” Ellie muttered at the woman sitting up front. Greg managed to catch the quirking smile as she slid the divider into place, allowing father and daughter some privacy.

“It’s not her fault, Ellie.” Greg tossed the bags onto the bench seats across the way and twisted to face Ellie. “Do you think you can give me a minute to explain?”

Ellie pulled her arms tighter across her chest. “One minute. Then I jump out of this car, moving or not.”

“No jumping out of moving cars.”

“Sherlock told me how. Don’t forget, he used to give good information before I stopped listening to him.”

Greg tried not to smile. “We’ll talk about that later. Right now, I want to talk about this,” he set a hand over his abdomen. “I really am alright. I need you to know that.”

Ellie scoffed. “Ten stitches of alright.”

“It was only stitches. Nothing damaged beyond the skin.”

“Skin is the largest organ,” she muttered.

He sighed. “Look, Ellebelle, you know what I do for work. We were going in to make a series of arrests. It was a large group. Ask Sally if you need to, but there were probably a dozen cops there. One of the kids, and he was just a kid, decided to be stupid and pulled a switchblade. I didn’t fancy Tim getting skewered, so I grabbed the kid and he got a lucky swipe in before I got the knife away from him. It was a stupid kid, making a stupid mistake, and everyone got lucky. Me included.”

“If it wasn’t a big deal, why didn’t you just tell me?”

Greg sighed and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “I was in the ED for the better part of five hours. Sally yelled at me for the first hour for not having my stab vest on. The doc yelled at me for most of the second hour. John found out and let Sherlock yell at me for about an hour. I think the only person who didn’t yell at me was Myc, but only because he walked in on Sherlock gutting me. I went to bed and by the time I was up, I just felt sore and stupid. And yer mum had sent you off to Alex’s. So by the time I could tell you about it, I was absolutely fine and John was taking the stitches out.”

“Dad…”

“I didn’t want you to worry, Monkey.”

“Yeah, but… If you don’t call me about this stupid stuff, how do I know you’ll call me about the big stuff?”

He pulled her tight against his side. “I will. Ellie, I swear I will.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “And I’ve never lied to you.”

“I know.” She relaxed against his side for a moment. “And you’ll tell me the small, stupid things?”

“Of course.”

“Ok then.” She patted his chest and sat up again. “Tell the boss that you need to go home. You’re stinky.”

Greg burst out laughing.


	22. Chapter 22

“Oh, Greg! Hi!”

“Molls? I didn’t know you were joining this…” Greg gestured around at the cameras and crew.

Molly laughed. “They said something about learning to cook, and you know how terrible I am, so I just figured why not? Right?”

Greg gave her a one-armed hug and a genuine smile. “Sure, why not.”

“Right,” Antoni clapped his hands and gestured at the space around them. “Welcome to the first half of your cooking lesson.”

“First half?” Greg gave him a confused stare.

“Well, there’s more than one thing you can eat.”

Molly laughed. “That’s why there’s Just-Eat _and_ Deliveroo.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.” Antoni tossed them each a denim colored apron. “Normally, this place has wine with their cooking courses, but since it’s only ten in the morning, I asked them to forgo it.”

“Sad,” Molly chuckled. “I cook better with wine.”

“Do you?” Greg elbowed her playfully.

“Well it always tastes better when I’m done.”

“Done the wine? Or the food?”

“You both are terrible,” Antoni cut in. “Now, before we start talking about the meal and prep, Greg, I want you to take a look around. _This_ is a real kitchen.” He gestured to the well appointed space. “Obviously, it’s for service style use. It’s much bigger than you need in your flat. But look at the décor. We have wood floors, wood table, tiles on the walls. It’s comfortable. Adult. Masculine.”

Molly leaned in close, “It’s not working for me, but it’s got to be working for you.”

Greg choked out a laugh. “You know they’re filming this.”

Antoni shook his head. “My point is, can you see yourself cooking in a place like this?”

Greg gave a nod. “Yeah. Sure. Why not?”

“Good.” Antoni picked up one of the onions and passed it between his hands. “So, today, we’re going to do a meal. It’s quick, healthy, most of it can be pre-prepped, and it’s delicious.”

“Sign me up,” Molly rested her elbows on the worktop.

“You have to do this too,” Greg chided.

Antoni sighed. “We’re going to do a fish en papillote.”

“What kind of fish?” Greg asked curiously.

“It’s a fish cooked in parchment.”

“No, I know.” Greg flashed a grin. “I meant what fish are we using?”

“Monkfish. Have you done a fish en papillote before?”

“Yeah. It’s been a while, but I’ve done it once or twice.”

Antoni tilted his head. “Greg Lestrade, you dark horse.”

“Wait,” Molly set her hand on the table. “If you cook it in paper, won’t it burn?”

Greg burst out laughing.

Antoni had a lot to say to the camera as the fish was in the oven. “Greg. Greg is,” he made a combined expression and noise of exasperation. “I literally had to pick my jaw up off the floor. This man not only knows how to dice veggies. Quickly. And safely. He knows how to use a whetstone. He knows how to strip the skin from fish. He de-boned it! And he folded his parchment in this absurdly complex and efficient way that I’ve never seen before. He likes, Likes to cook. And he’s been living on takeaway garbage! Where has this guy been hiding?!

“Dr. Hooper, maybe shouldn’t be allowed in a kitchen.” Antoni pressed a palm to his forehead. “I’ve never seen someone actually set fire to parchment, but she did. She can stick to Deliveroo. Or maybe Greg can cook her dinner. They’re fun together.

“I can’t say that her fish came out ok. But Greg’s…” Antoni sighed. “I didn’t notice when he went off script with the spices. But I would have him over to cook for me. It’s actually delicious.”

Molly and Greg were laughing in the background. Molly tried another bite of Greg’s meal. “God, this is great!”

Greg eyed the blackened mess that was Molly’s attempt. He grinned at her. “You don’t mind if we just... split this one?”

“Not at all! So…” she shifted some of the vegetables around with her fork. “You going to make this for… you know…”

“Maybe.” He winced slightly. “Seems a bit… Pedestrian?”

“Greg!” She smacked his shoulder. “Cut it out!”

“I’ll make you a deal. I’ll make this. Once.”

Molly nodded.

“If you promise _never_ to try to make this again!”

They burst out laughing.

“Deal!”

“Stick to pub nights with Sal for the moment. Safer for everyone.”

“Greg!” Molly set down her fork and dusted her hands on her apron. “Well, that’s me done.”

“What do you mean, done?”

Antoni wrapped an arm around her shoulder and smiled. “I’m not sure the kitchen could stand more of you, my dear.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek.

Molly turned scarlet. “Well. No. That’d be silly. I’d wreck the place. I’m better off in my lab. Can’t really kill anyone there.” She laughed nervously. “Dead already and all.”

Antoni laughed and gave her a hug. “Bless you!”

“I’ll see you later, Molls,” Greg nodded.

“Sure,” she gave a small wave and headed for the door.

“Ok,” Antoni bobbed his head. “Quick clean up and then we’re on to part two.”

Greg started gathering his dishes and utensils, then paused with his hands full, realizing he had no idea where to clean them.

Antoni stared for a moment and burst out laughing. “Greg! No!”

“What?”

“I should have been clearer.” He clapped him on the shoulder. “I appreciate the effort, but I don’t need you to clean anything!”

“Oh,” Greg flushed and glanced down at the detritus in his hands. “I-Uh…”

Antoni kept laughing. “Oh God, just give those to Nick over there.”

“Er… Right. Yeah.” The tidying underway, Greg couldn’t quite decide what to do with himself. “So…”

Antoni began stacking ingredients on the newly wiped down worktop. “I’m just going to keep putting things out here and let you guess what we’re making.” He’d reached corn syrup and Greg’s tentative smile bloomed into a grin. “Got it, have you?”

“Better’uv,” Ellie called from the door, shedding her jacket and crossing to take her place at Greg’s side.

“Pancakes, huh?” Greg wrapped his arm around her shoulder.

“What else would we be making?”

“You don’t want to, branch out? A bit?”

“Dad,” she scolded. “If it’s not broke.”

He tugged her in close and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Does this mean I’m forgiven?”

“Dad.”

“I’m taking that as a yes.”

“Right. Pancakes!” Antoni thumped the large sack of flour on the worktop. “From scratch. And syrup from scratch.”

“Am I churning my own butter?” Ellie jibed.

“Ellie,” Greg scolded.

Antoni just laughed. “Thankfully, I have fully churned butter.”

“Well, thank God for small miracles.”

“Ellie!”

“Greg and Ellie have clearly worked in a kitchen together before. You can see it in the way they move around each other. It’s actually so sweet. I know there was a bit of a bust up on the soccer pitch, but this is a comfortable space for them. He clearly adores her, and she looks up to him.” Antoni glanced over his shoulder as a burst of laughter erupted from the stove. He glanced up at the ceiling as if asking for patience. “Ellie cannot one-handed skillet flip these pancakes. And Greg has continued to try to teach her, much to the detriment of this kitchen.”

“No. No, no, no nonono!” Greg sounded more amused than firm. There was a loud splat as an entire, half-cooked pancake landed wet side down on the floor.

Ellie stared at it then started laughing again. “Floorcake!”

“You’re a menace!” Antoni called. Then he turned back to the camera. “I love her.”


	23. Chapter 23

_“I’ve seen you in and out of the shots for the past few days.”_

_“…”_

_“How do you know Greg?”_

_“Hm?”_

_“Greg. How do you know him?”_

_“Oh. I work for Mr. Holmes.”_

_“For Sherlock?”_

_“…”_

_“… Ok, no. Sherlock’s brother?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“I don’t think I’ve met him yet.”_

_“No.”_

_“Oh… Is he a friend of Greg’s?”_

_She cocked a brow._

_“Or not?”_

_An overly polite smile passed across her face as she tilted her head. “Mr. Holmes has a great number of acquaintances and too many commitments to put an appropriate label on it.”_

_“That… That sounds like something you’d hear on BBC News.”_

_“Isn’t it?”_


	24. Chapter 24

Greg paced back and forth on the pavement with the mobile pressed snuggly to his ear. “No. Absolutely not.” He stopped pacing. “Because I’ve said no. There’s a reason for the injunction.” He planted his spare hand on his hip. “That’s not up for debate! It never has been!” He started pacing again, his clipped steps taking him five feet in either direction. “Don’t. Don’t you dare!” His shoulders bunched up towards his ears. “Because this isn’t up to you! I don’t give a fuck what he wants!” He pulled up short, his voice dropping to a low growl. “You do not want to push me on this. Tori, I swear to God if you-No. No! Tori you can’t-“ He held the phone out and glared at it, the conversation clearly over.

“Christ.” He hung his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, his expression crumbling. He bit his lower lip and glanced at his phone. Then he gave a quick nod and punched a number. “Pick up, pick up, please pick up.” The line connected and visibly relaxed. “H-hey.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I-I didn’t want-I’m not interrupting anything important, am I?” He listened nervously. “Yeah. No. You know how we thought… That… She might-“ Greg blew out a heavy sigh. “Yeah. Just now. I-I can’t let her just…” He nodded. “Yeah. I just. I’m gonna-“

He paused again as he received a long answer. The longer it went on, the more relaxed his expression grew, some of the anger dissipating. “Ok. Ok. You’re right. I know… I just… Yeah. She gets under my skin. And the absolute worst timing.” He let out a sharp bark of laughter. “Yes, I’m supposed to be relaxing. This is why I can’t have nice things.” He shook his head as the conversation continued. “No. Ok, I will… Of course I trust you. T-thanks. Thank you.” A small smile quirked the corner of his mouth. “God, I miss you… Yeah. Can’t wait. Thank you. Yeah… Ta. Ok.” He clicked off the call and sighed. After a moment, he slid the phone back into his pocket and gave himself a fortifying nod.

“Lestrade.”

He jumped and spun around, startled and a bit stunned to see Sherlock standing there. “Jesus, are you trying to kill me?”

Sherlock’s lips twisted into a sly smile. “That would be awfully ambitious of me. Murdering a Detective Inspector in broad daylight. Then again, given the competency of your department, getting away with murder would be quite easy were you conveniently out of the way.”

Greg huffed and crossed his arms. “What are you even doing here?”

Sherlock grinned. “I believe I was invited.”

“Yay!” Jonathan called as he bounded down the steps of the building to meet them on the pavement. “You’re here!” He slid between them and linked elbows with Greg first, then Sherlock. “Now. Gentlemen. Let’s talk skin care.”

Sherlock leaned back slightly to catch Greg’s eye and cocked a brow.

“Oh God,” Greg muttered.


	25. Chapter 25

“Sherlock? Wait, Sherlock!” Greg dug in his heels as they passed the large entryway and headed for the elevators. “If you’re here, who’s minding Ellie?”

“Your daughter is fairly self-sufficient, Lestrade. You ensured that. Maybe she doesn’t need minding.”

“Sherlock.”

“I gave her a loaded oyster card and a fifty pound note.”

“You don’t even have your own oyster card, Sherlock!”

“Fine, I left her with John… Or Molly… Or maybe it was Wiggins.”

Greg crossed his arms and glared. “You did not.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Of course not. I’m not an idiot. My brother is looking after her at the moment. Or rather, I suspect his PA is entertaining her with the newest office updates.”

“With the…” Greg groaned and pressed both of his hands over his eyes. “Please, Sherlock. We’ve talked about this.”

“No! No, no, no, no! What is this?” Jonathan reappeared, ushering them into the nearest lift.

“You see what I’ve had to work with.” Sherlock stared pointedly at Greg.

“Oi!” Greg frowned at the pair of them.

“First of all, this,” he tweaked one of Sherlock’s curls. “This, this, this, this,” he gestured to different parts of Sherlock’s outfit. “Yas. All of it, gorgeous, yas. But that’s not what I was talking about.” He patted Sherlock’s cheek and turned to Greg. “What is this?” he put his hands on Greg’s shoulders and steered him out of the lift into the spa.

“I don’t…” Greg moved to shrug.

“No! Your shoulders are already up around your ears! This is why they saved me for last. They were worried I’d scare you away! But look at this, poor baby,” he cupped Greg’s face in his palms. “You are supposed to be relaxing! And your gorgeous face just has gotten all worried and lined. Honey…”

Greg felt his face heat. “Err… I…”

“Enough. You,” he pointed at Sherlock. “Go get done whatever you normally get done to those fabulous curls. And you,” he wrapped an arm around Greg’s shoulders. “You are coming with me.”

“I… Right. Ok.” Greg followed Jonathan past the barber chairs. “Is this the Dorc-”

“Honey, this is heaven as far as you’re concerned.”

“Honestly, if Sherlock is here…”

Jonathan sucked in a breath, “You did not!”

Greg held up his hands. “I… It’s not…”

“Claws back,” Jonathan made a meowing sound. “In here, you.”

Greg let the hand on the small of his back guide him into the small, dim room. “Here?”

“Yes.” Jonathan pulled the door shut behind them. “Now. Greg. I want you to think. When is the last time you did something for yourself?”

“I… What do you mean?”

“Something totally selfish. Spent money on you. Just you. And spent time doing something that had nothing to do with anyone else.”

“I… Had a few beers and watched the Arsenal match at home, on the couch.”

“And…”

“I mean, I was alone. So. That was, just for me.”

“Greg. Honey. No.” Jonathan covered his mouth with the tips of his fingers. “Ok, my job is to work on grooming. And I have ideas,” he ran a hand through Greg’s hair. “But more importantly. First. I want to do something for you, that’s just for you. So you’re getting a massage.”

Greg’s brows went up.

“Not from me!” Jonathan burst out laughing and Greg let a skeptical smile quirk the corner of his lips. “No! Lordy. Could you imagine? No. But you are getting a massage. Your shoulders are sitting at least an inch higher than they should be, and I’ll bet you get headaches, and you don’t sit up straight, and you end up squinting at things.”

“I thought I was just getting old.”

“Greg. No. No! You are not old. Stop it. But you are going to feel thirty years younger. And then we are going to have a chat about how you’re taking care of your cute little face.” He pinched Greg’s cheek and skipped out of the room.

“This man. This. Man.” Jonathan rested his cheek in his palm. “I have some great ideas for his hair, which is actually very little. And his skin. He was blessed with great skin, but he doesn’t pay it one lick of attention. He keeps saying he’s old. He’s not. He doesn’t even look his age. God. If I look that good at fifty.” He gave an exasperated sigh. “His shoulders were like, up here,” he held his hand up by his ear. “Literally, here. He’s about three seconds from taking up smoking again. And he’s actually two inches taller than he’s been carrying himself. And it is. Breaking. My. Heart.”

An hour later, Greg emerged from the treatment rooms and joined Jonathan and Sherlock in the barber’s area. “Ooh,” Jonathan grinned. “Look at you all oiled up and relaxed. Feel better?”

Greg rolled his shoulders. “Yeah. I think so. Yeah.”

“Good. And are you ready to put your cute little face in my hands?”

Sherlock scoffed. “He’s never heard of moisturizer.”

“Oh, you!” Jonathan gave Sherlock another quick once over. “So, yes, yes, yes, yes, YES! But if you keep your well-dressed butt here, I’m going to get handsy.”

Sherlock scrunched his face, “No thank you.” Greg bit his lip in an attempt to keep from laughing. But Sherlock straightened to his full height, a generous inch taller than Greg, but not as tall as Jonathan was in his boots. “Do try to learn something from this, Lestrade.”

“Ta, Sherlock.”

“Toodles!” Jonathan waved as Sherlock disappeared. “He works hard to look that good. Now you. In the chair.” Greg settled in the barber chair and shifted as Jonathan draped the styling cape around his neck. “Ok,” Jonathan ran his fingers through Greg’s hair, shifting it this way and that, pulling it up into spikes on the top. “How often do you cut your hair?”

“When I think of it? I… I got frustrated a while back and just buzzed most of it off.”

“And you’ve let it grow in as it will? Where’s the style?”

Greg shrugged. “I went grey ages ago and just stopped thinking about it.”

Jonathan squawked. “This is gorgeous. Do you even understand?! Salt and pepper is so distinguished. Tan pulls it off, but you. I just love it.” He checked the length on top again. “You know what, no. I’m glad it’s a bit shaggier right now. Because we have more to work with. Now, cutie, before we do that, have you ever had a hot towel shave?”

“Erm…” Greg shifted a bit. “N-no, not really. Never really fancied letting a stranger at my neck with a razorblade.”

“Well that’s why we’re here, silly. And Paul is the best.” Jonathan gestured at the man that joined them at the chair. “And you’re in for a treat. It’s just the most amazing feeling. So smooth.”

“Right…”

Paul laid out a few supplies and smiled politely. “How warm is too warm for your skin?”

Jonathan petted the side of Greg’s face as Paul set up to strop the straight razor. “I doubt he knows.”

Greg sucked in a sharp breath. “Yeah, I don’t know that this is a great idea.”

Jonathan let out an exasperated sigh. “It really is.”

Greg winced as Paul snapped the strop taut “I um…” He flinched at the sound of metal on leather.

“Oh. OH!” Jonathan whispered something to Paul who nodded quickly and made himself scarce. “Greg,” he moved around to the front of the chair and perched on the mirror shelf. “Honey, look.”

Greg chewed on his lower lip. “What?”

“Take a deep breath and look around.” Jonathan waited for him to follow the instructions. “Another breath. You know where you are?”

“Y-yeah. Of course I do.”

“Good. We don’t _have_ to cut your hair or have a shave. We don’t have to stay here. And we literally don’t have to do any of this.” He reached out and rubbed Greg’s cheek. “I adore the stubble. We can leave it. You’re gorgeous just as you are.”

Greg flushed. “No. It’s fine. We can…” He waved a hand under the cape.

“All of it?”

“Um, yeah… Ok, yeah.”

“Yay!” Jonathan stood and passed back behind Greg, tipping the chair slowly back into a recline. “Now, Paul is all set, so the next time I see this face, it’s going to be glowing and smooth!” He took the warm towel that Paul offered and gently draped it across Greg’s face.

When the shave was done, Jonathan returned and settled in to cut Greg’s hair. It was thirty minutes of straight chatter from Jonathan and by the end of it, Greg was laughing, a relaxed and honest smile on his face.

“Now, are you ready to see?”

Greg smiled. “Sure, why not.”

Jonathan twisted the chair to face the mirror. “Ta-dah!”

Greg blinked. “Holy shit.”

“I’ve taken the sides up while leaving most of the length on top. There’s the smallest amount of pomade in there, but your hair,” he scrunched the front. “It’s actually so thick, it just wants to stick up on its own.”

“Wow.”

“And there’s just a normal moisturizer on your face to keep it from drying out. I’ve got to pick a good aftershave for you, but still. Isn’t this just amazing? Look at you! I am so in love with you like this!”

“I um…” Greg shook his head slowly.

“Do you like?”

Greg huffed. “I-I can’t… That doesn’t even look like me.”

“But it is you!” Jonathan tweaked Greg’s hair, smushed his face between his palms, and finally rested his hands on his shoulders. “Honey. Literally adorable.”

Greg just stared. “Huh.”


	26. Chapter 26

_“I understand you’ve been the man coordinating this behind the scenes.”_

_“Nonsense. I merely accommodated the plethora of requests. Helped navigate the extensive paperwork.”_

_“And recommended the scotch club?”_

_“Perhaps.”_

_“And nominated the tailor.”_

_“He’s very good at his job.”_

_“And managed to get permission for the filming.”_

_“A matter of bureaucratic negotiation.”_

_“And the transportation between all of our sites.”_

_He waved a hand. “Easily achieved.”_

_“Alright, alright. Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.”_

_“Quite.”_

_“So… How do you know Greg?”_

_“I… Became aware of Detective Inspector Lestrade when he was a Sergeant. There was an unpleasantness surrounding my brother, and he managed to help him along.”_

_“Your brother, Sherlock?”_

_“Mmn.”_

_“He helped him?”_

_“Gave him much needed direction.”_

_“Ok. So… This is paying back a favor?”_

_“In a manner of speaking. He has amassed a large number of favors over the past decade.”_

_“We’ve heard he’s awfully generous.”_

_“He is.”_

_“You know, he’s turning fifty next week.”_

_“Is he? That’s quite an achievement for any person acquainted with my brother.”_

_“There’s going to be a birthday party, celebration as part of filming.”_

_“And you convinced him to participate? That is quite a coup. I ought to congratulate him… properly.”_

_“… Is that a cat?”_

_“Mmn. Minding it for the moment.”_

_“I didn’t think I’d see a cat in this office…”_

_“No? I happen to be rather fond of it.”_

_“It?”_

_“Pudding. I respect its privacy.”_

_“So, what do you do in this office, besides cat sitting?”_

_“Minor government work.”_

_“Minor?”_

_“Yes.”_


	27. Chapter 27

“Are you ready to see your new place?”

“God, is anyone ever ready?”

Jonathan grinned. “Never. But no one is going to be ready for you!” Greg blushed, but Jonathan rambled on. “Because, Look. At. You! All glowing!”

Greg ducked his head and scuffed his toe against the pavement. “You say that to everyone, I’m sure.”

Jonathan gasped. “Did you just call me a liar? How very dare! Rude!”

Greg chuckled and held his hands up. “Ok, ok. Alright.”

“Rude,” Jonathan muttered and gestured to the building door. “Get your adorable face in there.”

Greg grinned. “Yeah, alright. Shame they couldn’t fix the elevator.”

Jonathan laughed loudly and knocked on the door. “Ready?” he checked one last time. Greg nodded and Jonathan opened the door.

A wave of sound hit Greg as he passed through the open door. A combination of gasps and squeals and ‘Oh My’s’ and ‘Look at you’s.’ And he barely heard them.

Holy shit.

There was no way this was his flat. It was. But… It just was… “Holy…” he knew he was gaping, but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t stop staring. It… All of it… He barely recognized the space. But it was… him. It was his. It… was… “Perfect,” he breathed.

“Hey, dad.” Ellie pressed a quick kiss to his cheek and wrapped her arms around him. “You look fantastic.”

“I um…”

“For an old guy,” she murmured so only he could hear.

A shaky grin stretched across his face. “Brat,” he muttered.

Bobby rose from the couch, a new couch, Greg noted absently. “Come inside, Greg.” He held out a hand.

And Greg only noticed he was still standing in the doorway. “I… Right…” He cleared his throat. “God. Sorry.”

Bobby’s smile was gentle. “Don’t apologize.” He set a hand at the small of Greg’s back. “Just come in, let me show you around.”

Ellie let go of him and flopped on the large sofa, watching everything with a broad grin reminiscent of her father’s. Greg followed Bobby’s lead into the middle of the sitting room.

_“The sitting room needed so much work.” Bobby tilted his head with a grin as he spoke to the camera. I started with the centerpiece of the room, which was the absolute void of anything. I found this great multi-seater couch and a pair of different but coordinated armchairs. We refinished the floors with a darker stain and matched the ceiling molding. I gave the walls a pale, but warm blue and used white and grey accents throughout. I’ve added a pair of bookcases, a dry bar, and an entertainment center of sorts. We’ve replaced the horrible art with a few photos I found.”_

Greg wandered around the room, letting his fingers skim the new furniture and decorations, staring at the pictures with a misty expression on his face. He picked up the build-a-bear and bit back a smile. “I’d completely forgotten I still had this.” He grinned at Ellie and set it back on the shelf.

Antoni beckoned him over to the kitchen. “Bobby added a functional worktop here, and replaced the countertops. You can eat at the worktop, but there’s an actual table.”

Bobby gestured at the place-settings. “We have six total, but left the four out. The table has two drop-leaf sides, so you could possibly squish in eight people if you tried really hard.”

Greg chuckled and Antoni cut in. “Don’t laugh. I know what you can do in a kitchen. I want you cooking for everyone.” Greg shook his head uncomfortably, until Antoni set a hand on his shoulder. “We got rid of your old fridge; it was older than your daughter.”

“All new appliances,” Bobby added.

“And you have edible food in the pantry.”

Greg laughed. “Alright, alright.”

“We moved the washer and dryer into the hot press to keep them out of the way,” Bobby tapped the door without opening it. “Main bath is well outfitted.”

“God,” Greg blinked at the space. “I take back what I said about the elevator. How did you even…”

Jonathan appeared with Ellie in tow, “And you, little missy. Keep all your lovely products in your caddy and in your room. Yes? Yes.”

Ellie grinned, “My room, eh?”

“You heard me,” he fluffed her curls and smushed her face between his palms. “Also, love the peak-a-boo purple. Literally, can’t stand it. Now come see your room.”

Bobby opened the door and let Ellie in first. “Oh wow!”

Greg hovered in the door as Jonathan pointed out the desk, bookshelf, bed, storage, and wardrobe. “God,” Greg muttered. “Did you find a beanbag that matches her hair?”

Bobby patted his arm. “I’m very good at my job. Now. Come see your room.”

Greg followed Tan and Bobby down the all to the master suite. “I… Jesus…”

“You needed a bigger bed,” Bobby stated. “We stripped the crappy carpets and refinished the floors in here as well. No desk. You’re not to do work in here. Ever.”

Greg let out a helpless laugh.

“Closet is here,” Tan pulled it open. “Work on one side, non-work on the other. Drawers and baskets are your friend.”

Greg huffed again and trailed along as Jonathan led him to the en suite.

“Now, it’s a lot to change to a straight razor in one go, so we’re leaving it for now, if you are done ignoring your gorgeous skin. Yes? Yes. So. Shaving foam warmer on the foam. Moisturizer. Aftershave.” Jonathan touched the lids of each product as he went. “Sunscreen. Please and thank you. Even if you’re just in the office. Capiche?”

Greg nodded.

“Good. Yes. Pomade. Little bit between both palms, start at the back and work your way up. Then just a little scrunch.” He tugged Greg’s hair into spikes. “And cologne. Smell.” Greg stooped to sniff the bottle. “Yeah?”

Greg gave him a half smile and nodded.

“Yas! So. Here’s how I want you to use it. Spray. Delay. Walk away.”

Greg grinned and shook his head with a laugh. “Ok.” He repeated the process, complete with a hip wiggle.

Jonathan gasped. “Yas! I can’t with you right now! Get out there!”

Tan pulled a few items from the closet and handed them to Greg. “Ok, first thing I want you to put on is one of your work suits. It’s work. It’s business. It will take you from your office to the street and back. No tie, but you could. Can I leave you to try that on?”

Greg nodded in Tan’s wake.

Tan sat primly on the couch between Jonathan and Bobby. “I think you’re going to love this. He’s going to show a work look.”

“Is it grey?”

Tan pursed his lips at Ellie. “No, as a matter of fact, it’s not.”

“Children, please. No fighting!” Jonathan mimed holding them apart.

Greg took that opportunity to step into the sitting room. “So… Um… How does it look?”

“… Dad.”

“Oh shit!”

“Oh my God, oh my god, ohmygod.”

Tan popped up from the couch to tweak the collar of the suit. “Right?”

“Who even are you?” Jonathan demanded.

“We went with a deep navy that has a darker navy shirt. Hint of a pattern that’s mirrored in the pocket square. No tie.” Tan popped the second button of the shirt open. “Just for show now.”

Greg’s face instantly flushed.

“A much lighter color can work with this as well, but we’re branching out from the dull colors.”

“You look professional,” Karamo offered. “Sharp, but professional.”

“And it fits you,” Bobby added with a smile.

Greg huffed. “Yeah.”

“What do you think?” Antoni asked Ellie.

She grinned, wide and unapologetic. “I can’t believe you know what to do with a pocket square.”

“Ok. Ok,” Tan patted his arm. “We’ve got to do another one.”

Greg rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Alright, alright.”

“Not grey!” Ellie shouted after them as they headed back to his room.

Greg watched as Tan laid out another selection on the bed. “Just this?”

“Just this?” Tan choked back a laugh. “Yes just this. It’s not a work look.”

He rolled his tongue along the front of his teeth as he considered it. “Just seems…”

“Classic. The work you’re looking for is classic.” Tan grinned. “And don’t forget to tuck.”

Greg snorted. “Ok. I… I trust you.”

“Oh my God,” Tan gasped. “It’s a Queer Eye miracle.”

Greg rolled his eyes, twisted the tee shirt between his hands and snapped it at Tan like a wet towel. “Out!”

Tan darted from the room, laughing, and headed back to the couch.

“Tell me our boy is going to look good,” Karamo begged.

Tan tried to look offended.

“Oi!” Ellie poked him in the side. “My dad _always_ looks good.”

Jonathan patted her shoulder. “Of course he does, darling.”

She crossed her arms and stuck her tongue out at Karamo.

Antoni just grinned. “I love her.”

Greg cleared his throat. “Is… Is this… Okay?”

“Well,” Tan exclaimed.

“Did you make him do a French tuck?” Antoni demanded.

“When doesn’t he do that?!”

“That’s a…” Bobby gestured blankly.

“Classic,” Tan finished. “That’s a classic look.”

Greg shifted the leather jacket around his shoulders. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you didn’t dump this one.”

“That is a pair of jeans,” Antoni nodded approvingly.

“It’s a basic tee,” Tan gestured. “With jeans and a vintage leather jacket.”

The corner of Greg’s mouth quirked up. “My vintage leather jacket.”

“Yes, yes. Yes. Yes!” Jonathan pointed. “Yas!”

There was a loud sniffing sound.

Ellie shook her head and waved aimlessly.

“Aw,” Jonathan wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

“Ellie?”

“M’fine.” She waved again and tried to hide a watery smile.

“Ooooh,” Jonathan smushed her cheeks between his palms.

“Ellie?” Greg moved closer to the couch. “What?”

“Oh my god,” she buried her face in her hands and sniffled again.

“Hey,” Greg knelt in front of her. “Ellebell, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she muttered.

Greg didn’t buy it, and wrapped his arms around her. “C’mon, Monkey. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She mumbled against his chest and he laughed quietly. “You look like you again,” she said finally.

“Did I not?”

She shook her head.

Tan winked at Bobby.

Bobby tried to politely look away, but ended up staring at the old picture of Greg holding a two-year old Ellie; the picture he’d blown up and framed on the wall; one of Greg wearing a basic tee and jeans and an old leather jacket. Bobby shook his head.

Jonathan held his own face in his palms and sighed. “This is bea-u-tiful. I can’t watch this anymore.”

Greg pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Happy tears?”

“Happy tears,” she agreed.

“Ok,” Greg straightened and stood with a groan. “Need to get off the floor.”

“Don’t even say it,” Tan threatened.

“There used to be carpets,” Greg complained as he popped his back.

“But there’s a new comfy couch,” Ellie patted the narrow space on the cushion next to her.

Greg squished into the space and leaned back, stretching his arms along the back of the sofa with a relaxing sigh. “Yeah. Never getting up again. This is too comfortable.”

“I’m glad you approve,” Bobby smiled.

“There was one more thing we wanted to help you with.” Karamo leaned forward. “I know you’ve been working on the injunction.”

Greg’s shoulder’s stiffened. “I… How?”

“We made a phone call,” Karamo said bluntly.

“Only took the one, oddly,” Bobby added.

“And then, I can only assume a large number of other calls took place.”

“Strangely how quickly that happened,” Tan threw in.

Greg swallowed. “Don’t tell me anything if it’s not goo-“

Karamo smiled gently. “It’s come through.”

“What?”

“The injunction came through,” Karamo repeated.

“I…” Greg looked to Ellie and she just stared in shock. “How?”

“From the new year,” Karamo continued. “They can move, if they want. But she stays with you.”

“I… I get to stay? I don't have to move to the States?”

Bobby patted her knee. “You get to stay. Here.”

“How did you even… Do you even want…” Something between a laugh and a punch of air escaped from Greg. “Who could…”

“We’ve been assured the paperwork is totally in order,” Antoni chimed in.

“Oh God,” Greg murmured, a complex and wistful expression contorting his face.

“And there’s a school with a place for her,” Tan added.

“Great football team,” Karamo grinned.

“I get to stay?”

Greg clamped a palm over his mouth and shook his head slowly.

“That… That’s… My room?”

He pressed his eyes shut and took a deep breath.

“Dad?”

When he opened his eyes, it was through a blur of tears and he wrapped both arms around Ellie.

“C-can I stay?”

“God yes.”


	28. Chapter 28

“Ellie!”

“What, dad? I’m just finishing my hair!”

Greg dried his hands on the tea towel. “Make sure that bathroom is company ready when you’re done!”

Ellie laughed. “I promise, I’ve completely trashed it!”

“And make your bed!” He planted his hands on his hips and gazed around the kitchen. The parchment was cut, the ingredients diced, the fish filleted, the snacks plated, the table pre-set… It felt like he was forgetting something. Oh God, what was he forgetting?!

“Molly’s bringing flowers, John’s bringing beer, dessert is in the freezer,” Ellie took the towel away from him and tugged at the apron. “Everything is ready except you.”

“I think I’m forgetting something.”

“Yeah, to shower.” She gave him a playful shove towards his room. “And you’re supposed to wear something nice tonight. Not the jeans and tees you’ve been living in all week!”

“Fine, Pot, let me know when they teach you about irony.” He pulled his hand back just before he tousled her hair. “Sorry. Habit.”

“Ugh, dad. Go.”

_“I made some Pimm’s Cups for the party!” Antoni brought a tray over to the large sofa where the rest of the team had gathered. “How’s he doing?”_

_“The prep-work he’s done for the dinner is going to make you cry,” Bobby offered._

_“In a good way!” Karamo corrected. “In a good way.”_

_“Oh my goodness! Look at her!!!” Jonathan squealed._

_Tan’s gasp of amusement was comical. “Her hair matches her skirt!”_

Ellie pulled a few trays of hors d’oeuvres from the fridge and shifted a few bits on the plates, before setting them on the worktop. She set small piles of napkins and plates on the coffee table, the dry bar, and the counter.

“Dad! You have about ten minutes before people get here!” she called through the closed door.

“Right!” Greg called back. He carefully finished shaving and rinsed the remaining dabs of shaving foam from his face.

_“You should have let him keep the scruff,” Tan murmured. “It’s a solid look for him.”_

_“No, no. I like this. This is neat, crisp,” Bobby gestured. “Makes him look younger.”_

_“Oh. My. God.” Jonathan draped himself over Antoni’s lap. “He put on the sunscreen!”_

Very little pomade, he told himself, bunching his fingers in what could have been fringe if left to do something terrible. He washed the product off his hands and headed for his clothes.

_“Tan, that color is fantastic.”_

_“Isn’t it?”_

_“Wait… he’s… he’s not going to wear a tie?!”_

Greg tucked his shirt neatly into the trousers and reached for his waistcoat. No tie. He shrugged into it and buttoned it, then went to look in the mirror. And hesitated. It… Well, ok, it suited him. But it didn’t _Look_ like him. He barely stopped himself from mussing his hair in frustration. Then he took a deep breath. Let it out. And gave himself a small smile. And nodded. “Cufflinks,” he muttered. “Where…”

His mobile buzzed on the bureau.

_“Wait, what’s he doing?” Karamo frowned at the screen._

_“Oh no!” Jonathan yelled. “Greg, honey, do not answer that phone!”_

“This isn’t a great time.” Greg planted his free hand on his hip. “You know why… I’m not having this conversation with you… Because the decision has been made and I won’t have you making her… Don’t even think about it! … Christ! Tori, some things aren’t about you!”

_“No, no. Greg. Don’t…”_

“Look. Now is not a good time. I will talk to you later.”

_“Atta boy!”_

“No. NO! Tori, you’re not allowed to-“ Greg stared at the phone. “… Come here…”

_“Shit.”_

He sucked in a sharp breath. Then another. “Shit.” His shoulders tightened as he heaved another breath. “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.”

“Dad! Door!”

“Jesus.” He started pacing. “Elle, ten minutes! Can you play host?”

“You got it!” She punched the music player and something soft but upbeat wafted from the hidden speakers.

He chewed on his lower lip and stared at the mobile in his hand. “Right. Right. This’ll…” He punched the number and held it up to his ear, belatedly clocking the camera now in the hall with a view through the open door into his room. The line connected a moment later. “Hey… Sorry. I-“ he shut the door firmly, all cameras on the opposite side of the barrier.

_Antoni stared open mouthed. “Wait, what just happened?”_

_“He… There are people arriving!”_

“Dr. Hooper!” Ellie cried, flinging the door open and stepping aside.

“It’s Molly, please. We’ve talked about that.” She offered the bundle of flowers and glanced around. “This looks great!”

“Doesn’t it?!” Ellie left the door open as she cut the flowers loose and neatly arranged them in the vase she’d made ready. “Where’s Sal?”

“I was parking,” Donovan muttered joining Molly by the sofa. “Why can’t there be parking in London?”

“Why did you drive?” Ellie demanded, setting the flowers in the middle of the table.

“Taxis are expensive,” Sally shrugged.

“And public transit is for peasants,” Sherlock stated.

John snorted. “It’s not, you git.” He slipped past him and gave Ellie a one-armed hug. “Where should I put the beer, kid?”

“Fridge,” Ellie pointed.

John let out a low whistle. “The place looks fantastic.”

“Does it?” Sherlock wrinkled his nose. John frowned back and kept a beer for himself.

“Can I get you guys something to drink?”

“Wine?” Molly asked.

“Yeah, wine?” Sally shrugged. “Going to need at least one glass if you’re here.” The bite of her statement was lost in the wry smile on her face.

“The anesthesia by which we endure the operation of life…” Sherlock waved his hand absently and John firmly planted his beer into it. Sherlock frowned, took a small sip and gave a vague nod of approval.

“Red or white?” Ellie tucked rings around the bases of two glasses.

“White-“

“-Red”

Ellie went to work opening two separate bottles of wine.

_“Aw, she’s such a little hostess!”_

_“But why? She shouldn’t be…”_

“So, where’s Greg?” John sipped his beer and propped himself against the worktop.

“Getting ready,” Ellie smiled tightly as she prised a cork from the bottle. “Sherlock? Anything?”

Sherlock eyed the kitchen skeptically. “That depends. Are there going to be more people?”

“Not for dinner,” Ellie handed generously filled wine glasses to Sally and Molly. “But Ollie and Pete are coming by for drinks. And Shelly and Jan from downstairs will be up soon. And I think Mr. Dimmock is coming. Philip sent his regrets.”

“One of John’s beers is fine… Good lord,” Sherlock muttered.

Ellie caught his eye, then tracked his glare towards the flat door. “Hey?” Ellie grabbed the camera and twisted it towards the kitchen. “Has anyone shown you what my dad did with the wine glasses?”

“No.”

“Come see,” she grinned and headed to the worktop where glasses were already laid out. The camera caught the briefest glimpse of the back of a suit and one shoe before the door to Greg’s room snapped closed again; blocking out guests and show staff alike.

_“I don’t remember him doing anything fancy with those wine glasses.”_

_“Let her be excited about all the changes!”_

Greg was sat on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands, measuring his breaths carefully to avoid full on panic.

“Gregory?”

He blew out a breath. “You… I thought… You aren’t supposed to be here.”

“I am exactly where I belong.”

Greg bit his lip and shook his head slowly. “God… It’s… it’s like she can’t stand it. Like the idea of Ellie being happy, of me… it’s too much for her.”

“Gregory.”

He rubbed his face roughly. “She can’t be here. Myc, she can’t! I can’t let… This is supposed to be a place for Ellie to…”

Mycroft found space to kneel between Greg’s spread thighs. “Gregory?” He caught Greg’s hand before it could do damage to his hair. “Look at me.”

Greg winced before he lifted his eyes. “You’re going to ruin your suit,” he muttered hoarsely. Mycroft raised a brow. It was the only response needed and Greg snorted. “Oi. I’m trying to have a panic attack here.”

A half smile twitched at the corner of Mycroft’s mouth. “By all means.”

Greg choked out a wet laugh, let the quiet stretch between them. “This isn’t hers,” he said finally.

“No. It is not.”

“Myc…”

“Gregory.”

“How are you so calm with…” he gestured absently around the bedroom and at the sounds of friends out in the sitting room.

“Were it remotely advisable, I would have you out of that suit and on your back before the last guest could vacate your lovely new flat. I assure you, calm is the furthest thing from my mind.”

Greg blushed out to his ears. “You think the flat is lovely?”

The half-twitching smile reappeared on Mycroft’s face. “I do. Bobby Berk has decent taste and I appreciate his understated style.”

Greg felt the beginning of a smile pull at his cheeks. “You watch the show,” he accused.

Mycroft hummed noncommittally. “What on earth have they done to your hair?”

“Don’t-You don’t like it?”

Mycroft tilted Greg’s chin up with a carefully placed finger and caught his wrist again as he reached nervously for the neatly styled salt and pepper spikes. “I did not say that.”

Greg blushed again. “Just… I… Tell me it’s going to be ok?”

“Gregory Lestrade, in what world would I settle for ‘ok’?” He cocked a brow. “Consider it sorted. Come; up.” Mycroft rose and offered a hand, pulling Greg to his feet. “Now,” he straightened Greg’s collar, eyed the extra open button of his shirt skeptically, and brushed his fingers affectionately down the buttons of the neatly tailored waistcoat. “Luke does do splendid work. Would you like a hand with your cuffs?”

“I uh… I’m going to be doing the dinner so… I’m actually just going to roll them.”

“Heathen.”

“And not wear the jacket.”

“Scoundrel.”

“It… looks ok without a tie?”

Mycroft gave him a long look. “Rakish.”

Greg’s expression went coy. “Yeah?”

Mycroft stepped neatly into his space, caught his chin between his thumb and forefinger, and kissed him firmly. “Fishing for compliments does not suit you. You know you’re devastating.” Mycroft cleared his throat. “Now, you have a party to host and I ought to make myself scarce.”

“You can’t stay?”

“We agreed…”

“I don’t care,” Greg shook his head. “Everyone we care about already knows.”

Mycroft took a measured breath. “You’d need to set an extra place for dinner.”

“I made enough for eight.” Greg smiled outright. “In case Ollie wouldn’t leave.”

Mycroft considered it. And nodded. “Alright. I need to make a call. And you rather need to greet your guests before they worry something has gone horribly awry.”

“Didn’t it?”

“Not at all.”


	29. Chapter 29

_“So, what was the experience like for you?”_

_He blew out a long breath, stopped, then laughed. “God, it’s hard to describe.”_

_“Good?”_

_“God, yeah. Good. I… I guess I didn’t really realize how… How far I’d… I’d slipped?” He furrowed his brow. “I think I’d just stopped… It was easier to take care of other people than myself.”_

_“All of your friends mentioned that you looked after the people around you.”_

_He huffed out a laugh. “I did. I do. But… You know I had so much leave built up that the CI insisted I take another week off? What am I supposed to do with myself?”_

_“Relax?”_

_Greg laughed outright._

_“Get ready for your daughter to move in permanently?”_

_“Yeah. Yeah, definitely.” Greg’s eyes went a bit misty._

_“That all working out?”_

_He bit his lower lip and nodded, humming an affirmative._

_“Because there was a bit of drama…”_

_He took a deep breath. “We had agreed, a long time ago, that when she was done her GCSEs, she could decide where she wanted to be. And… I… I guess I hoped, but I…” He swallowed heavily. “It’s been a difficult few years for all of us. And I’m… Relieved? I’m… I think I’m happy?”_

_“You don’t sound sure.”_

_“It’s been a while,” Greg gave an uncomfortable smile. “Almost forgot what it feels like.”_

_“A lot of people were worried you were lonely.”_

_Greg raised both brows. “Were they?”_

_“Yup.”_

_He wet his lips slowly. “I’m really not.”_


	30. Chapter 30

Greg stepped out of his room and shut the door quietly in his wake. It wasn’t sneaking, but he knew what it meant when he had to make a phone call. He’d only crossed the threshold into the sitting room when Ollie noticed him.

“GREG-O!”

“Crap!” Greg actually squeaked as Ollie lifted him off the ground in a bear hug.

_“Oh no!” Tan gasped. “Put him down. Put him down!”_

_“Not the hair!” Jonathan cried._

Greg ducked Olie’s hand. “Right! Who still needs a drink?”

“Me!” Ellie called, bouncing across the room and scooping up a glass of wine. She handed it to her father with a grin.

Greg wrapped his arm around her shoulder, pulling her in tight to his side. “No you don’t.” He kissed the top of her head, “There’s a few Jarritos hidden in the back of the fridge for you.”

“Really?” she dashed for the kitchen as he turned toward the greater room.

“Anyone else?”

“I think we’re all good,” Tim raised a glass of his own. “But look at you!”

Sally cleared her throat, “You look… good, boss.”

“Don’t sound so sure,” he gave a laugh to cover some of his discomfort.

“No, I’m sure. I don’t think I’ve seen you look so… Smiley? Since before… Well… Ever.”

“It’s a good look on you,” John said definitively.

“Well, ta.”

“I dunno about all these rifles, but yer barnet looks class, those one twos suit ya, and you look like the china I knew way back!”

Greg grinned. “Thanks, Ollie.”

“And your flat,” Jan gestured.

“Don’t get any ideas!” Shelly scolded. “But now I see what all the noise was about.”

Greg looked around the room. “It really turned out nicely.”

“Does it mean you’ll actually be home?” Jan asked. “If I hear footsteps, I don’t need to assume someone has broken in?”

“The shame in that!” Greg laughed. “No, I’ll be here more. And… Ellie… She’ll be here.”

_“Oh my God! Look at that smile!” Antoni cried._

_“They love the flat,” Bobby said softly. “Good.”_

_“Of course they love it,” Karamo nodded._

_“No one recognizes him like this.”_

Nearly two hours later, Greg was sliding a tray of papillote parcels from the oven. “Everyone happy if we do this family style?” He glanced over his shoulder at the full table. It was, essentially, his family.

“Frankly, I don’t care how we do it, I just want that food,” Molly rubbed her hands together.

Ellie set a large bowl of salad on the table and handed the tongs to Sally. “Anyone need a refill?”

“We’re all good,” John nodded at the vacant chair he assumed was hers.

“Are we abiding by traditional rules and allowing the host to take the first bite?” Sherlock twirled the stem of a wine glass between his fingers. “I’m not fully convinced this isn’t a plan to poison us all.”

A meowing sound preceded the cat as it alighted next to the fish on the counter. “Get down,” Greg murmured affectionately, scooping it one handed and setting it back on the floor. He turned and began slipping the parcels one onto each person’s plate as he made his way around the table. “Why the hell would I want to do that?”

_“Wait. Wait! Where did that cat come from?!” Tan shouted._

_“I saw it in Sherlock’s brother’s office!”_

_“There wasn’t a cat when I was renovating,” Bobby pressed a hand to his cheek. “Why on Earth…?”_

“You have always had quite the vivid imagination.” Mycroft set a full glass of wine on the table and leaned around Greg to pick a piece of fish from the nearest papillote and pop it in his mouth. He pressed a quick kiss to Greg’s cheek. “Delicious.”

Sherlock made a gagging sound.

Greg blushed and cleared his throat. “Done with the calls.”

“Of course.” Mycroft seated himself at one end of the table.

_Jonathan squealed. “He just kissed him! He KISSED HIM!”_

_“What did I just see?!” Tan covered his eyes while Karamo gaped at the screen._

_Antoni sniffed and watched as everyone opened their papillotes. “Can I just say, the food looks amazing too?”_

“Before we start,” Mycroft ran a finger around the base of his wine glass. “I would like to take a moment to raise a glass to our host.”

Greg dropped his eyes to his plate as his cheeks heated. “Don’t be silly, Myc. Everyone should dig in.” When no one moved, he shifted and eventually lifted his gaze to meet Mycroft’s.

“Gregory,” Mycroft lifted his glass. “After nearly a decade of watching you burden yourself with the care of every person in your orbit, I am quite pleased to have, though not without some resistance, watched you be cared for in a manner. You are positively glowing with a few days of relaxation.” Greg blushed out to the tips of his ears, sucking his lower lip between his teeth. Mycroft’s head tilted slowly as he eyed Greg. Finally, Mycroft raised a brow, “Happy Birthday.”

Ellie cleared her throat. “There are children here, Mr. Mycroft.”

Sherlock snorted. “I taught you better than to draw attention to yourself.”

“I was talking about you,” Ellie grinned.

Mycroft smirked and lifted his glass higher. “To Gregory.”

A chorus of ‘To Greg’ merged with a ‘To Dad’ and perhaps one ‘To Graham’ sounded from around the table.

Greg was a deep shade of red as everyone took a sip in toast. He grinned and rubbed the back of his neck. “Alright, alright. Everyone eat up, while it’s still hot.”

_“He’s so precious!” Jonathan pressed a hand to his forehead._

_Antoni blinked back tears. “He is so loved.”_

_“How did we miss that?” Karamo demanded._

_“Look at how Ellie is watching him.” Tan sighed. “I adore them.”_

_“Gentlemen?”_

_All five of them started and turned, blinking at the intruder in their flat._

_She smiled politely and continued to send a text from her mobile. “Apologies for the interruption. I don’t want to hinder the celebrations. I am merely here to appropriate any and all footage of Mr. Holmes beyond the approved interview.”_

_“The what and the who now?” Antoni demanded._

_Jonathan stared at the camera and mugged with mock surprise._

_“I believe if you check the fine print of your filming contracts, We have absolute discretion on final editing. Mandatory condition for show condonance. If you would be so kind, I can take the digital reels and be on my way.” One of the production assistants handed her a small box of the digital footage. “Thank you. An approved version will be returned in the morning.” Her heels clicked sharply on the floor as she slipped from the flat._

_“What on Earth just happened?” Bobby asked._

_“And do we have enough left to air this episode?” Tan mused._

_Antoni sighed. “I’m sure we can edit around Mr. Holmes. There’s a few shots of the dinner without him in it.”_

_Karamo frowned. “Did anyone hear her come in in the first place?”_

_Jonathan smirked. “Did anyone notice how fabulous her shoes were?”_


	31. Chapter 31

Greg sighed and closed the door behind John and Sherlock; the last of the crew having left long before that pair. Ellie was half asleep on the sofa. There were dishes and glasses everywhere. He groaned and propped himself up against the door. Clean up was going to take hours.

“It will keep until tomorrow,” Mycroft murmured, caressing Greg’s cheek as he passed by. “Sleep first.”

“I’ve a brand new, lovely flat and I let everyone trash it on the second day.”

Mycroft moved across the room and touched Ellie’s shoulder. “Eleanor, you’re not to sleep on the sofa.”

“But it’s comfortable,” she muttered.

Mycroft turned and raised a brow at Greg. “Nevertheless.”

Greg pushed himself off the door with a grunt. “He’s right. Proper bed, Monkey.” He shook her ankle as he made his way into the kitchen, stacking the plates next to the sink. He heard Ellie grumble as she rolled off the couch and stumbled into her room. _Her room_.

“What has brought about that smile?” Mycroft propped his hip against the counter and studied him. “I know it isn’t a fondness for doing dishes.”

“That’s her room,” Greg answered quietly.

“Ah.”

“Thank you.”

“For?”

Greg stopped moving plates and cutlery and sighed. “They made a single phone call? Myc. I’m not an idiot.”

“I never said you were.”

“I recognized your club.”

“We shall have to go back sometime; now that you’ll feel at home there.”

“And your tailor.”

“Luke is not my only tailor.”

“Your cars, your assistant, your influence. How did you get permission to bring the entire show to London?”

Mycroft actually shrugged. “Sometimes, you need only ask.”

“The injunction?”

“That… Had been in the works for an age. The timing was simply convenient.”

“Convenient…” He wiped his hands on a towel and turned to face him fully. “You aren’t worried? At all? They were filming everything. And dinner…”

Mycroft shifted, rubbing at an imaginary spot on the counter. “As I said, it has been sorted.”

Greg crossed his arms. “Oh it has, has it?”

“You’d be surprised at the efficiency of British government when properly motivated.”

He tried not to smile. He tried and failed. And in a moment, Greg had a broad grin stretching across his face. “Not much surprises me anymore.”

“No?” Mycroft raised a brow.

“Not at all.” Greg pressed his lips together and shook his head. “Thank you.”

“Happy Birthday.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he murmured.

“Be that as it may, the cleaning will keep.” Mycroft unfurled a hand, held it out as an offering. “Come to bed.”

Greg shivered. “How do you even do that with your voice?”

Mycroft hummed softly. “Come to bed; I’ll show you.”

Greg took his hand. “It’ll be caked on those plates tomorrow.”

Mycroft pulled, gently leading him out of the kitchen and down the hall. “I’ll buy you new ones.”

“They are new ones,” Greg objected with a laugh, glancing to make sure Ellie’s door was closed. “They’d better last longer than one dinner!”

“Like this suit?” Mycroft tugged him over the threshold and then used Greg’s back to shut the door, pressing him into the wood with a firm hand on his chest. “You feel this should last longer than one dinner?”

He grinned lazily. “If you like it this much, then yes. Please don’t ruin it.”

Mycroft considered it. Eyeing him like a puzzle or particularly appetizing morsel of food. “It would be a shame to tear it…” He released one of the buttons of the waistcoat. Then the second.

“Thank you,” Greg sighed.

“Oh?” Mycroft leaned in close, finishing with the waistcoat and tugging the shirt free of Greg’s trousers. “There is, I believe, more than one way to ruin a suit.”

“Don’t you dare,” Greg groaned, remembering that his hands were functional at about the same moment that Mycroft found that the buttons on Greg’s shirt were very much in the way. He reached up to catch Mycroft’s face between his palms and kissed him firmly. “Myc…”

“Yes?”

“Turn off the lights.”

 

~

 

“Do we really have to watch this?” Greg groaned as he hung his coat.

“Yes,” Mycroft said seriously. “After all that trouble I went to…”

“What if I just cooked you dinner instead,” he wheedled. “I’ll do the thing with risotto you love so much?”

“I’ve already made popcorn!” Ellie held up the bowl that had taken up residence between her and Anthea.

“Wouldn’t you rather know what everyone else has been allowed to see?” Mycroft raised a brow.

Greg sighed. “I’m not cooking after this embarrassment.”

“It’s not!” Ellie objected. “This show is great! I’ve already binged the first five episodes. I almost watched it without you!”

“How did you get her to stop?”

Anthea smirked. “I unplugged the wireless.”

“She’s evil, but effective,” Ellie gave Anthea a fist bump. “Look! They called it ‘Polishing a Silver Fox.’ Perfect!”

Greg sighed again. “You could all watch it without me.”

“Not in a million years, dad!”

Greg turned to Mycroft and dropped his voice low. “It’s ok, right? Like, the cut turned out ok?”

“Gregory,” Mycroft placed a hand on the small of his back guiding him towards the large couch. “You absolutely know, by now, that I never settle for just ok.”

 

~

 

**_Two minutes on Translating Tastes – with Tan and Jonathan_ **

 

“Cooking in a foreign country can be daunting,” Jonathan said frankly.

“For starters, you’re away from home,” Tan added with a head tilt. “It took me ages to get comfortable going out for a shop in America.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” Tan looked exasperated. “There are about eight hundred types of toothpaste and forty-five different versions of tea.” Tan gazed at the camera flatly. “None of which are real tea.”

“Honey, we threw that shit in the harbor.”

“Oh my God!” Tan gasped. “Look. If you’re new to an area, find a shop that suits your needs first. There’s no point wandering around a Spar when you need a Waitrose.”

“If you have a friend or relative who’s local, ask their advice. New to the area, someone at your new job will have the low down.” Jonathan pulled out an American to English dictionary. “And get to know the local slang.”

“Some foods go by different names. Chips are crisps.”

“And fries are chips.”

“A zucchini is a courgette and cilantro is known as coriander.”

“Arugula is called rocket and an eggplant,” Jonathan smirked suggestively. “Is an aubergine.”

“It doesn’t quite have the same ring to it?”

They both shook their heads no.

“This is super important if you have food allergies. Like, knowing it will literally save your life.”

Tan shook his head again. “Doesn’t everyone know that prawns and shrimp are the same thing?”

“They aren’t!” Jonathan threw up his hands. “That’s like saying biscuits are the same as biscuits.”

“At least we have fairy cakes.”

“I’ll bet you do.”

“And they are absolutely called to-mah-toes,” Tan gave a nod of finality.

Antoni rushed into the frame. “I KNEW IT!”

Tan clucked his tongue and shook his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Snoggy:
> 
> And then rimming. And fin.


End file.
